Punished Arelia LaRue Book #2 Page 6

  I stretched my arms and was surprised to find that I was pain free. Maybe that nasty red bath had been worth it. I eyed my hand in wonder. The seven dagger stabs had healed like Aunt Mae had said they would. I was beginning to get it, every time I offered my blood to Erzulie the wound from the offering would heal faster than a normal cut. However, the problem was for larger trades she needed more blood, blood that I didn’t have. That meant I needed to learn to work with the other spirits and understand how I could make them happy.

  I glanced over at Sabrina as she carelessly drooled and dreamed. She managed to stop snoring long enough to mutter, “No Lucus, I want the Harry Winston one, not Cartier. Cartier is so cheap.”

  I still hadn’t figured out how I was going to tell her about what was going on at Darkwood and about Lucus. I had no idea how I was supposed to act around her when she would inevitably throw herself at him. Should I pretend that I was okay with it? Should I tell her how I felt about him? But how did I feel about him? Did I just pity him or was there something more? I didn’t understand it myself. How was I supposed to make her understand?

  Fueled by a powerful hunger for chocolate and the need for caffeine, I finally managed to drag myself out of bed and stop my obsessive ‘what-if’ thoughts. I looked around and realized that our room was horribly messy and disorganized. The floor was littered with clothes, shoes and other random unidentifiable items.

  As I glanced in the oval mirror, I was horrified by my tired skin, puffy eyes and wild hair. Apparently, spiritual baths couldn’t heal lack of sleep. I did my best to conceal my shocking state by slathering on some make-up, but I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to wear. Was I supposed to wear that the hideous Darkwood uniform, so I could pretend that everything was normal, and I was just the summer help? I guess. After getting dressed, I scribbled Sabrina a note explaining that I changed my mind and was staying after all. I grabbed the LaRue family spell book and headed downstairs.

  The heavenly smell of breakfast greeted me with an enormous cuddle. It was enough to make me almost forget what had happened last night. It all seemed like a distant nightmare even though it had occurred only a few hours ago. The kitchen was bursting with the comforting aroma of pain perdu, beignets, fritters, breakfast grits, creole hollandaise, oysters, English muffins, corn calas, creole pancakes and to my surprise, buttermilk drops.

  Bakers and cooks buzzed around the kitchen pulling out fresh batches of rolls and scones from the oven, frying beignets, chopping vegetables for omelet’s, mixing countless pitchers of Creole Bloody Marys, Ojen Frappes, and Brandy Milk punch. Thin beads of sweat dripped off their foreheads already, and I could tell that it was going to be another unbearably hot day.

  For a second, I felt a pang of jealousy. They were all so busy and joyfully ignorant of the eerie spirits that lingered around the plantation. It was the kind of bliss that I would never know again.

  I grabbed a buttermilk drop and shoved it hungrily into my mouth. I felt a thin arm wrap around me as I made a dash for a nice and greasy beignet.

  “Good morning Arelia,” said Henri. He gave me a lively smile and a light kiss on the forehead. His crisp white shirt looked impossibly bright against his wrinkled, dark skin. “I had Pierre whip this up for you since you don’t seem to like plain old café au lait.” He handed me an iced chocolate coffee.

  “Thank you.” My voice was muffled through mouthfuls of beignet, as I took the coffee from him.

  He studied me carefully with his kind old eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I guess.” I shrugged. How much did he know? Did Aunt Mae tell him what happened last night? I wondered if he knew any voodoo/hoodoo, but I was too shy to ask. I didn’t know Henri that well, even though he was my great-uncle, and making small-talk wasn’t my greatest strength. I never knew what to say.

  “I know it’s difficult Arelia,” he said after a long pause.

  “What?” I asked, as I practically inhaled my coffee.

  “I know that this world is difficult, the world of Les Mysteries.”

  I was hesitant to ask. “Do you hear them, too?”

  He shook his head and poured himself some café au lait. “No. Over the years I have learned the way of the herbs from Mae, but the loa still refuse to speak to me.”

  “Why did you choose to be a part of it?” I asked. “I mean being married to a powerful voodoo queen, can’t be easy.” I reasoned.

  He sipped his coffee and gave me another bright toothy smile. “No, it’s not.” He admitted. “There are still days when I fear the worst for her, there was a time I wanted her to turn her back on it all and live a simple life, uncomplicated by rituals and constant danger.”

  “You did? I can’t imagine Aunt Mae ever agreeing to that.”

  “Huh, she told me that if I couldn’t accept all of her, then we shouldn’t be together. Being a queen isn’t something that she could just turn off.”

  “Now that sounds like her.”

  “I suppose, what I’m trying to say is, that the people who truly love you will always accept you.”

  I took in his words and thought about Sabrina. “I’m not so sure it’s that easy.”

  “It won’t be easy to begin with, but things always have a way of working out. Trust me.” He gave me a small wink. His puppy dog brown eyes made me believe every word that came out of his mouth. “I assume you’re still interested in helping out with the guests?” he asked, as he eyed my uniform.

  “Yeah, for sure if I get a raise for all the craziness.” I half-joked.

  “Great, I’m gonna go on now and make sure the tables are all ready for breakfast. As for the raise, I’m sure Lucus would be open to negotiation.” He gave me a cryptic smile as he left.

  What did that mean? I grabbed another buttermilk drop and carried it into the small garden next to the kitchen. Outside, the early morning sun illuminated the delicate white-wire table and chairs making them seem impossibly shiny. The red chrysanthemums bellowed in the light breeze and filled the air with their haunting odor. I bent over and smelled them. I had no idea why I was so infatuated with them. They had some sort of magnetic charm that I simply couldn’t resist.

  “Good morning queen Arelia.”

  I cringed as the smell of cigarette smoke hit me. “Go away, Ivan.”

  “I thought we were friends now,” he said, as he leaned against the wooden door.

  I glanced over at him. His crumpled grey t-shirt with armpit holes coupled with his messy blond hair and bloodshot eyes made him look homeless.

  “We are not friends, we’ll never be friends. Go away, you’re a stalker, and I’m beginning to think you’re secretly in love with me since you obviously can’t stay away.” I was still furious at him for last night. If it weren’t for his stupid games and riddles, I could have gotten back to Lucus much faster. He was a sadistic ass with severe emotional issues.

  “You wound me with your words, queen. So much misdirected hate.”

  “You just don’t get it, do you? You repulse me.”

  He ignored me and took another drag. “What’s with you and the flowers?”

  I shrugged. “I like them,” I said, as I turned my attention back to them.

  He walked over to the flowerbed, got down on his knees and sniffed them. “You do know what they represent, don’t you?” he asked, as he studied my face.

  I rolled my eyes. “Death, everyone in New Orleans knows that.”

  He plucked chrysanthemum from the earth and held it up in the air. “They’re Papa Ghede’s pom poms when he cheers on souls to the afterlife. He waves and madly flings them in the air. Death is no more than a colorful shepherd with a top hat, cigar, and a twisted sense of humor.”

  His voice was wistful and passionate. He took another drag before continuing. “Do you know what happens when souls don’t cross over?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “They remain broken, lost and helplessly bitter,” he whispered, his grey eyes were aloof.


  Was he referring to Lucus? Did he know about the curse? “How do you know?” I questioned.

  “Ah just a guess.” His tone abruptly changed and the philosophical Ivan disappeared.

  I couldn’t hold in my frustration any longer. “Why weren’t you freaked out last night? You didn’t even react to the sight of Lucus all bloody, or when my palms were stabbed by some invisible force. Are you some kind of emotional zombie? Do you enjoy the sight of others suffering, does it give you some kind of gruesome gratification? You didn’t ask a single question or show the slightest interest in Lucus’ well-being.” I fumed.

  He tossed me a stupid grin. “Hey, I thought the vodka was playing tricks on me. You’re so cute when you’re angry.”

  I wanted to shriek and pull his hair, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a response. Apparently, he got off on watching other people get upset.

  “Here, a peace offering. Remember what you promised me queen,” he said, as he softly grazed my cheek and tucked the flower behind my ear. “Catch you later, hopefully Prince Charming isn’t deformed or anything.”

  After he left, I stared at the flowers for a few minutes and tried to figure out what the hell he meant. For the life of me, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I ripped the red chrysanthemum out of my hair and threw it back in the mud. Ivan, I will never understand.

  Chapter 9

  Les Mysteries or the Loa…

  I decided to stay out in the small garden and study from the spell book until Aunt Mae arrived. As I read over the personalities, quirks, likes and dislikes of what felt like a billion spirits, I realized that they weren’t that different from humans. Each and everyone one of them had their demands and peculiar habits. Some were petty. Others were wise and understanding. Quite a few of them were tricksters who loved to mess with humans because they could.

  Ayizan was undoubtedly a Sabrina. She was the loa of the French marketplace, loved all things gold, silver and her favorite color was pink.

  Babalu-Aye was an Ivan. He was the loa of epidemics and illnesses, dressed like he was homeless and was often associated with a broom adorned in seashells.

  Limba was definitely a Mr. Dumpty; he was the loa of rocks and had an appetite so big that he sometimes ate his own devotees. No one was safe from him.

  Gran-Bwa was a Henri because he was a warm and kind protector who loved to give advice. He lived in a scared forest and knew the secrets of herbal medicine.

  Gran-Ibo wasa combination of Aunt Mae and Grand-mere Bea because she had an infinite amount of wisdom and knowledge; plus she knew how to use the herbs and plants in the swamp for all kinds of magic.

  I read over the list, but I couldn’t decide what spirit was most like Lucus. Was he Mait’ Carrefour? The really tall, handsome, muscular spirit who controlled night spirits? No, he definitely didn’t have any control over Sousson Pannan yesterday. Plus, he wasn’t that tall or muscular. He was more of a Shilibo No-Vavou, the spirit who encompassed the four elements of ideas, clarity, activity and understanding because he always seemed so composed and rational. But then again, was he truly? Clearly, I didn’t know enough about him to assign a spirit to him.

  I was so absorbed in trying to figure out what spirit was most like Lucus that I didn’t even notice Aunt Mae until she said, “Good morning dear.”

  “Hey,” I gave her a quick smile. She looked exceptionally well rested, dressed in a billowy bright yellow dress accessorized with chunky aquamarine beads. So not fair that she looked so lovely, and I looked like I had been the one who had gotten feasted on by an ugly spirit. I wanted to ask her about Lucus, but I didn’t want to seem overeager or anything. “Ummm, so…”

  “He’s fine,” She gave my hand a tight squeeze.

  “That’s good.” I let out an enormous sigh of relief and quickly changed the subject. “I’m trying to figure out this spirit stuff, but there are so many. Is there any way you can summarize them for me? Is there a Cliff’s version of the spell book?”

  She laughed, and her green eyes twinkled. “There isn’t a Cliff’s version, but I can simplify it a little for you, if that’s what you’re after.”

  “Please,” I begged. “I need to know how to tell them apart when I can’t see them, or they just show up out of nowhere. There must be some way I can tell the difference between them like if they’re good or evil or something?”

  “You young ones are always looking for some kind of short cut.” She lectured. “There are an infinite number of loas and learning their particular needs, symbols and rituals isn’t going to happen overnight. How many times do I need to tell you that there isn’t a distinct good or evil in voodoo?”

  “But, how can you explain that ugly spirit from last night?” I wasn’t convinced that there was no such thing as good and evil. Although grand-mere constantly said the same thing, I didn’t buy it at all. If evil didn’t exist, how could I explain Ivan?

  “The spirit only did what it was meant to do,” she said with confidence. “We can never hope to understand the way of the loa. That is why we call them les mysteries, that is exactly what they are.”

  I let out a low sigh. I was never one to blindly accept anything. I always needed an explanation, details and had numerous what-ifs, but I was determined to try to suspend my disbelief. Running around in circles wasn’t exactly getting me anywhere.

  “Okay, so is there any way I can feel the difference between them?”

  “The LaRue family tradition works with the Petro, Rada, Ghede and Congo loa.” Her eyes bore into mine as she tried to see if I comprehended the importance of what she was saying.

  I nodded. My skin tingled, and I was fully absorbed by her tone. Even though, I had no idea what the difference between them was. “Like on our family’s tarot card?”

  She nodded and continued, as she fiddled with her beads. “Loas who belong to the Rada tribe are the older, wiser ones. Their origin dates way back to an era before time. They are everywhere and represent principles such as justice and equality. When a Rada spirit is close, you need to be extra respectful because they are the most powerful ones. If you listen carefully, and try with all of your strength you can hear a faint drumbeat every time a Rada is near. You can feel them in the sky, and they are always there to guide you if you treat them properly.”

  “I haven’t heard any drum beats,” I claimed, as I tried to recall the various conversations I had with spirits. “Well, only that one time in the slave cabin, but those were ghosts not loas.”

  Aunt Mae shook her head. “That’s because you’re not listening carefully enough. You need to use your instincts and get a feel for what type of spirit is near. Loas who belong to the Petro family are younger than the Radas and much more aggressive. These spirits began to manifest during the oppressive and brutal time of Haitian slavery. They made their home in New Orleans after slaves were brought here from that corner of the world. Needless to say they are more aggressive, playful and can be extremely dangerous, if you’re not careful.”

  I drummed my fingers on the table. “So how do I know if a petro is near?”

  “You hear the crack of a whip. Inhale the scent of gunpowder. Catch the sound of chains. That’s how you can be sure a Petro is near. Erzulie belongs to the Petro family, she’s kind and loving, but she has a bitter temper that balances out some of that sweetness. Much like yourself.” She gave me a large smile.

  “I don’t have a temper!” Did I?

  “Sure you don’t, my child.” Aunt Mae tossed her head back and let out a loud laugh. “I suspect your temper, sense of loyalty and kindness are traits inherited from Erzulie herself. The Petro are a fiery group and can be used in cases of defense and attacks, but you have to keep on their good side, you have no chance otherwise.”

  “How do I stay on their good-side? They’re always so moody. Even Erzulie shows up whenever she wants and doesn’t show exactly when I call.”

  Aunt Mae let out a heavy sigh; she didn’t even try to hide her frustration. “Ar
elia, do you enjoy being bossed around, commanded, being told what to do? Do you enjoy working hard without any pay, slave and toil with nothing to show for it?”

  I thought about what she said carefully. I hated all those things. I hated when people told me what to do, or when they were ungrateful or unappreciative when I tried to make an effort to help them. “No, it annoys me.”

  “Exactly, it annoys the loa too. You can’t expect them to act one way when you act another.”

  I was beginning to understand. They weren’t my puppets. They were infinitely more powerful than I could have ever dreamt of being, and after what happened last night, I knew I had to watch my back.

  The Ghede, family of loa, are simply known as death spirits. Papa Ghede is a member of this family, even though he is responsible for the safe passage of souls from this world to the next. He has an exceptionally crude sense of humor. Ghede loas have no problem making fun of a queen, criticizing her and being utterly rude.”

  I always imagined father death as some scary skeleton like the grim reaper. “If Papa Ghede is basically father death, shouldn’t he be a little more serious about his job?”

  Aunt Mae smiled. “Expect the unexpected when dealing with the loa, they are never what you expect and far from what you imagine.”

  I thought about what Ivan had said in the garden. Maybe death was actually no more than a colorful shepherd with a top hat, cigar, and a twisted sense of humor. At least one thing that came out of his mouth made sense.

  “What’s going on guys?” Sabrina made her grand entrance after a million hours of sleep and brought an enormous cloud of Hermes’24 Faubourg with her. I swore, her ugly uniform skirt was cut even shorter, and she had caked on an extra layer of make-up, complete with a smoky green eye and nude lips.

  “I’m so hungry. Is there anything to eat around here, that doesn’t involve tons of gross grease, or loads of sugar?” she asked, as she sat down entirely oblivious that she had interrupted what was a pretty serious conversation.