Voodoo Queens of New Orleans - Vol. I | ✓

Chapter 5: Have Mercy, Mister Mercier

**

I thought the sounds of Tia's House screaming before their death was the most heart-shattering noise I had ever heard, but I was proven wrong once the sound of my mama's scream echoed in my head.

I got up, surrounded by darkness with the occasional twinkle of the charms on the walls. My heart was thumping faster than Thumper's foot, and there was no if's, and's or but's about it. I slipped on some sneakers, put on my spectacles and ran my black ass out into the pitch-black hallway until I was stumbling down the staircases. And down in the shop, I saw one of the novitiates sleeping on the couch, completely unnerved. I was praying that it was just my mind playing tricks on me; trauma messing with my head and such. But conveniently, the screaming started up again, and the novitiate on the couch jolted awake immediately. That's when the fear in me arose up to my heart, cheeks, and ears.

"Esther," Mambo Nene said from the staircase. "What was that?"

The novitiate—Esther—got up and looked half as scared as I did.

"I don't know. It sounded like Madam Dumont."

"It was her," I clarified. "I s-swear it was her. Shit, this is happening all over again!"

"Lisa, calm down," Mambo Nene said, but before she could utter another word, all three of us saw the silhouette of a woman outside running past the window. She was wearing exactly what Mama wore when I saw her last. And right behind her was a shadow as black as night chasing after her. My ribs felt like they were breaking inside me while my limbs shook like Jell-O.

"Mama!" I called out. I tuned out the sound of Mambo Nene demanding I stay inside. Instead, I unlocked the door and ran out onto the sidewalk. People enjoying the late-night wonders of the French Quarter jumped at the sight of me sprinting out of the shop.

"Damn, Cher. You alright up in there?" A man with his friends laughed at me. I'm sure that seeing a woman in a silk nightgown and sneakers yelling for her Mama probably led them to believe I was a madwoman, but man, if they had seen what I had seen, they'd probably help me look for her.

My eyes flickered against the buildings, blinded by the lights and disoriented by the loud snare drums and symbols of the brass band playing by Jackson Square. There was no way I could find mama through all those goddamn people, and even if I did, what the hell would I do? I wasn't a match against a bloodsucker, let alone in what I was wearing.

Like my clothing would have made any difference.

"Lisa!" I heard behind me. Past a crowd of people in the street, Mambo Nene and Esther were trying to reach me. But beyond the tourists in front of me was Mama, pushing through people with a feared expression. That's where I decided to go, following her until I had enough wiggle room around me by a quiet crosswalk, where I saw her running into an alley on the other side. Mambo Nene still called after me, but once the light was green, I made a run for it across the street and into that godforsaken alley, ripe with the smell of sewage and foreign from the rest of the block. My eyes locked onto the gold shimmer of Mama's blouse in the raggedy light of the backways. She was on the wet ground, still and quiet. I swear to you, the weight in my heart burdened me when I saw my own mother like that. I ran to her as quickly as I could.

"Mama." I cried. "Mama, what did they do to you?"

She didn't respond, and I feared the worst. Once I was right in front of her, tears streaming down my face, I quickly tried to turn her around and lift her up. But my attempt was in vain. Mama disappeared the moment my hand landed on hers. Literally, she disappeared; her body evaporated into thick black smoke the minute my hand touched her shoulder. The air grew cold as I stared at my palms like I had committed unspeakable sorcery. For a minute, I believed I killed my own mother. Then I came to the consensus that I was merely dreaming because that was the only explanation for what had just happened—my mama had disappeared into thin air because, in dreams, anything was possible.