“Come on, Annabelle,” Ashley said. “That’s been your MO for years.”
“Even so,” I protested. “Just because I may or may not take a stand for the right or wrong reasons doesn’t mean that the stand I’m taking is wrong.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s right, either,” Roger said.
I wanted to object to the notion that fear, rather than a well-thought-out ethical worldview, was the basis of my reluctance to accept this invitation. Yes, it was a bastardized brand of Voodoo… but it was Voodoo no less that had attacked our family. A Loa was involved when my parents were nearly zombified. They recovered physically. But mentally? After several years of trying to take care of them ourselves, our parents checked themselves in to an assisted living facility a year ago today. They said that they refused to be a “burden” on our futures. It also meant that Ashley and I had our family’s antebellum plantation to ourselves.
Isabelle had been oddly quiet during this entire exchange. She probably figured Roger had said enough… and for whatever reason, when he spoke, I tended to listen. I mean, who wouldn’t listen to someone with a name like Thundershield?
I was glad Isabelle didn’t speak up. It probably would have made it feel like I was being ganged up on, which usually results in me shouting “fuck y’all” and storming out on a determined course to do my own thing.
I sighed.
“I’ll consider it,” I said, turning toward my sister. “But it still doesn’t feel right doing this without you.”
Ashley exchanged glances with Roger. “Should we tell her?” Ashley asked him.
Roger nodded.
“No… don’t say it,” I said.
“Don’t say what?” Roger asked.
“You two are not getting married,” I insisted. “You just started snogging. A good year of constant snogging is a requirement before a proposal.”
Roger laughed. “Isn’t that backwards? I mean, you went to the Catholic school… aren’t you supposed to get married before the ‘snogging’ starts?”
I huffed.
“We aren’t getting married,” Ashley said, intent to defuse my objection. “I’m going to the reservation for a while.”
“You can’t live on the reservation. You don’t have any Native in you.”
“Not at the moment,” Ashley said.
I cocked my head sideways.
“But I did have a good six inches of Native in me on that couch you’re sitting on a few minutes ago.”
I leapt to my feet. “You’re disgusting!”
Ashley laughed. “I’m just joking. We didn’t do it… not yet anyway. Not today.”
Roger’s jaw was practically lying on the floor. This clearly wasn’t the sort of banter he was accustomed to. It was, however, precisely the kind of tit for tat that I relished in.
“What you two do is your business,” I said. “Just don’t tell me about it. I already have visions of you and Thunder-schlong in my head that I’d like to get rid of.”
Roger was speechless. Damn, it was fun watching him squirm. Ashley relished in it, too.
“I’m not moving to the reservation,” Ashley said. “Not permanently. I’m going there on a retreat. It’s the next step in my training as a Shaman.”
“Shaman?” I asked. “Isn’t that kind of sexist? I mean, wouldn’t Shawoman be more appropriate?”
“Shaperson,” Roger interjected.
“Seriously?” I asked. “That just sounds—”
“Dumb?” Roger asked.
“Yeah… kind of like when they tried to change the Nicene Creed at my school to say ‘who for us human beings and our salvation…’ You know, since ‘who for us men’ was gendered language.”
“No it isn’t,” Roger said. “It means mankind. Besides, ‘man’ is in human, too.”
“Why not womankind?” I asked.
“Because that would exclude dudes,” Roger said. “And when you say ‘human beings’ in the Nicene Creed, doesn’t that exclude the little green men from other planets?”
I laughed. “It does sort of sound a bit speciesist. I wouldn’t want to offend any Martians. Maybe if we changed it to ‘who for us hominids’?”
“Still speciesist,” Roger said. “Why wouldn’t God want to save kittens?”
“Maybe because no one wants to deal with litter tracks all over the pearly steps in heaven,” I conjectured.
“You’re avoiding the subject,” Roger said. “Ashley is coming to the reservation to commune with the spirits, to learn her true path as a Shaman.”
“Sha-entity,” I said, feeling proud of myself that I’d come up with the most inclusive term possible.
“Sha-whatever,” Roger retorted.
I was somewhat put off by the fact that his term was more inclusive than mine. I mean, “sha-whatever” could even include inanimate objects. “Entity” presumed a bias toward conscious subjects.
I rolled my eyes before shifting my gaze toward Ashley. “So you’re going to be snogg… I mean, communing with the ‘spirits’ on the res… while I’m going by myself to learn Voodoo?”
Not by yourself, Isabelle insisted poignantly.
I cleared my throat. “I mean, Isabelle and I are going to be learning Voodoo.”
“She corrected you again, didn’t she?” Ashley asked, a half grin forming from only one side of her mouth.
I nodded.
“If this Kalfu character really is determined to collect Isabelle, then it makes sense you’d go,” Roger said.
“How does that make sense?” I asked. “Go right into the heart of Voodoo land so he can come after me without the inconvenience of looking for me?”
Roger shrugged. “But the Loa who invited you, this Oggie character, seemed trustworthy?”
“Well, he seemed to have an interest in recruiting me to fight some battle. I’m not sure that protecting me is his primary motivation.”
“But if he thinks he needs you, for whatever reason, he also has an interest in protecting you.”
“Think of it like any other paranormal investigation,” Ashley said. “Only this time, you are your own client. And you already know the kind of entity you’re dealing with.”
“But I still don’t have a clue how to deal with a Loa. They aren’t exactly demons, even if they might pretend to be at times.”
“Precisely,” Roger said. “Hence the convenience of this Academy.”
Chapter Five
“This just seems like a strange place to meet,” I said, standing in the middle of Jackson Square, staring at the business card that had my Academy invitation scribbled upon it. I’d been here many times before. The statue of Andrew Jackson reared back on his horse was a landmark of the city. The clock on the middle spire of the Cathedral-Basilica read five minutes until six o’clock. I’d arrived just moments before sunrise—at least according to the “sunrise schedule” on the app I’d downloaded.
I don’t see the problem, Isabelle replied.
“It’s just a bit surprising,” I said. “I mean, the person who will show me the way to this Voodoo school is going to meet me right outside the Catholic cathedral?”
Isabelle didn’t respond. If she’d had a body, I imagined she’d have simply shrugged. You forget how much communication is actually nonverbal until you spend your life with someone who can’t communicate with you in any way other than words.
The air was thick here, especially in the morning. In truth, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out in the city so early. I could feel the moisture in the air between my fingers. I suspected it was wreaking havoc on my hair. My leave-in conditioner helped, but no matter how much I used or how laboriously I’d worked to straighten it, the air here in the morning was bound to bring out some frizz.
I sighed…
You’re worried about your hair, aren’t you…
It was mildly annoying, at times, how well Isabelle knew me. “I just want to look my best. Any time you’re meeting new people, first impressions matter.”<
br />
I could hear Isabelle chuckling. Rich girl problems…
“Excuse me?”
Never mind…
I was grinning widely enough to indicate I hadn’t really taken offense to the comment. Isabelle just never understood my own preoccupation with my hair, and it made some sense. The fact that she’d grown up a slave meant that hair-frizz was the least of her concerns. Still, Isabelle was constantly pointing out how I tended to fret over things that didn’t matter much. I’m not saying she didn’t have a point. It was just a point that she’d made so often that it was mildly annoying.
“Hello?” I said, my voice resonating throughout the alleyway. “Anyone here?”
“Of course, dear child.”
I was startled by the softly spoken words, said from behind me. I turned and saw the figure of a man in a black cassock, with a gray, stringy beard. His hair was cut in a tonsure—a ring around his entire scalp, with the middle of it shaved. Priests and monks hadn’t worn their hair like this, as far as I knew, for several decades.
I gasped.
“My apologies, I did not intend to sneak up on you,” the man said. “I am Father Antonio de Sedella. You may simply call me Père Antoine.”
I scrunched my brow. “You can’t be serious… This alley, it’s named after you?”
“The living can only perceive my presence at sunrise,” the priest said. “And my time is limited.”
He’s a ghost, Isabelle said, confirming what I’d already started to suspect.
“Um, yes,” I said, extending my hand. “I was given this card… told to bring it to you.”
The priest paused a moment and smiled. “Pardon me for not shaking your hand or taking your card. It takes all my power to simply appear.”
I nodded and showed him the card instead.
The priest narrowed his gaze and focused on the card. “Follow me,” he said with a nod.
I followed the priest down the alleyway, toward the rear of the cathedral. Placing his hand on the side of the building, a pointed archway formed in the side of the building, a steep set of stairs heading downward.
“Remember this place,” Père Antoine said. “Once you’ve acquired your aspect, this doorway will open for you with a simple touch.”
I nodded, though in truth I had no idea what he was talking about. “This will take me to the Voodoo Academy?”
“It will,” the priest replied with a chuckle. “No better place to hide it than beneath the cathedral.”
Even more surprising than the fact that the academy was beneath the city’s most renowned Catholic cathedral was the fact that the place appeared to have a basement. I mean, some houses in New Orleans have raised basements. But since much of the city is below sea level, having a traditional basement in the region was typically out of the question.
Père Antoine sensed my trepidation. “The chambers are enchanted, child. There’s nothing to worry about. Not even Katrina flooded us out.”
Impressive… Isabelle said.
She was right. I’d never seen an enchantment on this scale. Don’t get me wrong, even a small trinket if enchanted properly can do some crazy shit. But I’d never encountered an entire building—or a basement, in this case—that was enchanted. A necklace, a locket, maybe a small figurine. But an entire basement?
Isabelle was clearly surprised as well. I wasn’t going to ask her about it, though. The ghost of Père Antoine seemed friendly enough… and he was a priest at that. Still, I knew nothing about this ghost, other than the fact that he seemed to support this “Voodoo” school, in spite of the fact that the Church hadn’t historically had much tolerance for things like Voodoo. I trusted the ghost priest enough to follow him through a mystical archway, into a basement beneath a cathedral that shouldn’t have such a basement, in a city where basements don’t exist at all. Clearly, it wasn’t that I didn’t trust the ghost… or the Loa who’d invited me here. But I didn’t completely trust the ghost… or the Loa who’d invited me here.
Chapter Six
The damp corridor at the bottom of the stairs from the church led to another set of stairs, followed by another corridor, and more stairs still. Due to the steepness of the stairs and the fact that the stone walls on either side didn’t have a handrail and were slick and moist, the trip downward felt mildly unsafe. Once we reached the bottom, a final corridor opened up to a massive chamber. By massive, I mean, so big I couldn’t even tell where it ended. A basement in New Orleans—crazy enough! But this was like an entire underground city—not just crazy, but off the fucking chain!
Holy shit! Isabelle said. Isabelle hardly ever curses. Just one of many ways she and I are complete opposites. I don’t think I’d ever heard her utter a “fuck” in the nine years we’d been soul fused. When she said “shit,” though, you could be sure that genuinely crazy shit was afoot.
“Holy shit,” I said, echoing Isabelle’s sentiments. An enchanted basement would have been impressive enough. But an entire city beneath New Orleans? “Who woulda thunk?”
“Who would have thought, dear,” Père Antoine said, correcting my intentionally bastardized use of the English language through his thick French accent.
Normally I would have been surprised to discover that this priest-voodoo-ghost was a Grammar Nazi. It was even mildly surprising that he seemed more concerned about correcting my grammar than chastising me for my curse. More than any of that, though, I was taken aback by the sheer beauty of the place.
“You’ll get used to the humidity in time, though I suppose you have no reason to take my word for it. You know, since I don’t technically breathe,” Père Antoine said, smiling ear to ear, as he saw how I was struggling to catch my breath.
“It’s not just the air,” I said honestly. “This place is breathtaking in its own right.”
The priest smiled and nodded.
In truth, I didn’t know how I could ever get used to a place like this. There was a sky, of sorts, above us. Though it wasn’t your typical sky, nor was it the rocky ceiling you’d expect in something like a cave. The whole ceiling was moving… and aglow with a kind of light that illuminated the entire underground world we’d just entered.
“What is that?” I asked Père Antoine, glancing upward.
“It’s water, child.”
“Water?” I asked. “How in the world…”
“We call it the firmament. It flows at sea level. Like I said, the place is enchanted.”
“How long has this been here?” I asked Père Antoine.
“This is Vilokan. The city of the Loa. Though Hougans and Mambos first took refuge here beginning in 1809,” the priest said. “The Haitian revolution brought many Haitian slaves and refugees to our city.”
“To New Orleans?”
“There too, but they came to New Orleans mostly in pursuit of Vilokan.”
“You mean to say that Voodoo priests and priestesses found this whole underground city under New Orleans?” I asked, already suspecting it was unlikely.
Père Antoine shrugged. “Marie Laveau is the only one who might know how it happened. I haven’t asked her about it.”
Marie Laveau… I knew that name. Her tomb was one of the most famous “spots” on the cathedral grounds. The placard outside her tomb identified her as the “Voodoo Queen.” It used to be that pilgrims would come to her tomb, draw an x on the side of her above-ground grave, and ask her for a blessing. As the custom went, if she granted it, they’d return with a gift, circling their x to testify to the queen’s power. The Church had never been particularly fond of the practice, as I understood it, and closed off the cemetery to the public entirely several years ago.
“So Marie Laveau is a ghost, too? You speak of her like she’s someone you speak to regularly.”
“Not a ghost, child. Though she was for a time. She lives again in Vilokan! Some say she’s a Loa, herself. I am not so sure. I knew her well in life, even baptized her. But I cannot engage her. I have one function, and that is to guide new student
s to their place in the academy.”
“But Laveau lives down here somewhere?” I asked.
“Child, she is the Queen of Voodoo, still. She’s the authority down here.”
I grinned. “So she runs the school?”
“No, child. She governs the entire city of Vilokan. The school is only one part of it. But I should say it is the school, alone, that keeps my spirit active here.”
I raised my eyebrow. “This school means a lot to you, it seems.”
“I helped establish it, child. It is why I continue to guide new students to its entrance. It was a role I cherished in life, and I willingly forestall my entrance into paradise that I might continue to do so in death. When we founded the school, Voodoo was only a small part of it. We established it that Negro children might have a chance learn to read and write. Teaching them to do so was strictly forbidden in my time. But today, alas, the times have called for the school to expand its mission. Nonetheless, so long as the school functions, I will remain here in spirit to see to it that every new student finds his or her place.”
Chapter Seven
One effect that the magic that coursed through the firmament had on the Voodoo underworld was that it cast a blue hue over everything. Since the light passed through water, it also created the illusion that every surface—even my skin—was moving.
The stone buildings, which looked as though they’d been hewn by hand, stood beautifully under the blue light, framing each side of the narrow walkways. There were no roads down here, which made it appear as though the buildings were practically on top of one another. The close arrangement of buildings, however, also made it difficult to see any distance. It was practically impossible to judge how large this Voodoo underworld might be.
The walkways were no wider than a hallway, giving me just enough room to walk behind Père Antoine while a few passersby nearly bumped shoulders with me going the opposite direction. My feet almost stuck to the ground as we walked. The walkways were damp, but not at all slick. While the air was thick, the temperature was pleasant. I’d wager it hovered around seventy degrees, give or take five. Since this underground world was essentially a giant cave, I supposed it stayed that way year-round.
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