❝black girl magic, emphasis on magic.❞
five witch clans in an epic battle for control over new orleans. one dark secret hidden from them, with a plan to kill them all.
(synopsis inside)
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one of the rarest species of voodoo practitioner, the mambo (or, her male equivalent, the houngan) is a priestess, whose body acts as a conduit for the power of loas (to voodoo spirits). they possess unparalleled abilities in voodoo spheres, and oftentimes do not require rituals or incantations to enact their magic.
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New Orleans, 1876
"THEY'RE INSIDE?" ASKED the mambo.
"Yes." Replied the nun.
The street was eerily silent, devoid of the New Orleans bustle. The doors were shut, sealed so by boards of wood hammered to the front, sigils and seals scrawled upon them with chalk. Arelia Broussard gathered her shawl in her hands, the wind becoming deathly still, yet even more chilling than it was before.
Arelia stood, solemn and dark, facing the covenant with heavy eyes. Constance, the nun, looked at the mambo with one eye and at the building with another, unsure of which she was more afraid of. The sisters had heard stories of the Laroux family for years- bitter rivals to the Chastain coven, which the sisters had been communing with for some time. No matter how much the Chastains had sworn that their powers were gifts- genetic anomalies given to them by circumstance, Constance feared in the deepest parts of her heart that they'd come straight from the devil.
No matter what she felt about the witches and their means, she had absolute certainty that what lay inside the covenant was pure, unadulterated evil. It was the reason she volunteered to go- no matter her fears, she knew that God would reward her for her faith. Or so she'd believed.
"You say they've been inside for how long?"
"Eighty years, nearly."
Arelia's qualms were not settled by this, despite knowing that a vampire starved of blood for eighty years would be no match for her. The voodoo community would've had her head for convening with the convent; however, Sister Constance made her an offer she couldn't refuse.
"And fire won't catch?"
"No. The fire from our torches won't spread, and not even the Chastain coven can do anything about it."
"Of course not." Arelia hissed. "Voodoo seals, means only a voodoo practitioner can solve your problems."
Arelia stepped forward, onto the porch of the convent, dragging her fingers along the wooden planks. The seals had been scrawled, rushed. The witch who'd done these must have done so in a hurry.
