Voodoo Queens of New Orleans - Vol. I | ✓

Chapter 33: Who We Come From

"Marie Laveau," Mama said ruefully.

**

Marie Catherine Laveaux, commonly known without the 'x' at the end of her surname. That x, however, she used to sign her name; she was illiterate.

I knew of her. Everyone in New Orleans knew of her. Every voodoo priest and priestess in the city had her photo in their houses and places of worship; The Coterie had a large, framed painting of her in Mama's shop. Marie was - is - the most well known Voodoo Priestess to have ever existed. Ever. Google her name and see for yourself. She was the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans before that "Queen" became plural and more priestesses stepped up and popularized themselves.

She died in 1881. To the public, she died of old age - natural causes. But the truth was revealed an hour before Mama said those two words to me; Terah's clan killed her. Vampires killed her and her kin. Back then, as Mama explained, tensions between Marie and the vampires were at an all-time high. Why? No one knows exactly. But after years of feuding, they finally decided to kill the Queen herself in the hopes that it would squash voodooism in New Orleans forever.

"It did the opposite," Mama explained. "Because while they were killing off the last of Marie's family, her daughter ran off into hiding."

And as Marie's daughter, Marie Laveau II, ran off into hiding with a few novitiates, serviteurs or 'co-workers' and two priestesses, the vampires thought they had won. But those two priestesses and Marie II eventually formed The Coterie with the refugees. And the war resumed until Terah's declaration of peace a century or so later between the voodooists and his clan.

From Marie II, all the way to Mama, Sajida and I - we were descendants of Marie Laveau herself. And Marie Laveau was Mama's met tet. Her Djab.

Her "Holy" Guardian Angel.

It explained why Mama tortured Hezekiah the way she did on the porch. It wasn't her, it was Marie Laveau, using that opportunity she had with Mama's body to hurt the man that killed her and her family. It explained even more than this, but by this time, my brain was overheating; I couldn't speak. I hadn't spoken since Mama said "Marie Laveau." My mouth was drilled shut, my eyes following Mama as if Marie was going to come out of her body any moment. Even when Kizzy and Aza ran into the house, I still didn't speak.

"We came over as soon as the sun started coming up," Kizzy said, setting her crossbow down on the table and making sure we were alright. Aza came over to me, asking me a plethora of questions regarding what happened, touching my wound and assuring me that she could heal me. It sounded like muffled white noise, their rambling. I wanted to be happy to see them, but I couldn't be. And immediately, by my silence, Aza knew something was wrong. She looked at mama, and mama looked at her; Aza knew. This was what she meant by there being a lot that Mama wasn't telling me. This was it. And it was finally out.

At least part of it.

**

We drove into the city back in Aza's car. None of us spoke. We only stared out of the window, watching the sun anxiously, waiting for nightfall with dread even though it wasn't even noon yet.

The trunk was filled with whatever we could fit in it; whatever was too important to leave behind. I held the parchments in my hand in the back seat, forcing myself not to look at them. Mama said I could look at them if I wanted to, but warned that I wouldn't be able to understand it. She didn't tell me what the papers meant, knowing my brain couldn't process anything else.

When we arrived at Aza's, we were welcomed outside by the Coterie, still in their night clothes, rushing to the car to welcome us. The Priestesses wouldn't stop bombarding Mama with questions, and the House members did the same with me. Aza told everyone to give us room, especially considering the wound on my arm was bleeding out. Aza, with an asking look towards Mama, took me into the house and straight up to her room. She ordered me to undress and bathe, and I did exactly that without uttering a word. Even though my entire body was sore, I washed the dirt, blood and grime off my skin with scalding hot water that nearly cooked me alive. I scrubbed and scrubbed as if it would erase the entire night I endured from my mind, but when the images of Hezekiah in his monstrous state and Abraham still lingered, I looked down at the dirty washing into the drain and turned the shower off.