“We don’t know either,” I said truthfully. “But then again, we don’t know what the terms of the first trial are. Only that it involves a demonstration of a mastery over candles and oils.”
Mikah reached into his fanny pack—yes, the boy actually wore one of those. No, not the cool ones you see popping up every now and again in fashion magazines. This was a straight-up old-school fanny pack. Three zipper pockets in the front and the whole thing fastened together by those annoying plastic buckles. It went well with the rest of his ensemble. Mikah’s sweet, don’t get me wrong. I’m a bit obsessed with the eighties and nineties when it comes to music, but fashion is a whole other thing. How people who made such killer music could dress so goofy was one of the most befuddling enigmas in history.
Mikah withdrew three vials and pressed them into my hand. “You just need the cinnamon.”
“I think I can find that,” I said, chuckling.
“What’s so funny?”
“That you actually had these things on your person… it’s silly. Who carries this shit on them?”
Mikah smiled wide. “I knew you were probably looking for help with candles and oils. Oggie told me about the first trial. I gathered a sampling of oils when I came to find you. I don’t usually carry these around.”
I smiled wide too. “I guess that makes sense.”
“What kind of nut do you think I am?” Mikah said, grinning back at me.
“A boy scout, apparently.”
Mikah squinted.
“Be prepared. It’s the Boy Scout motto.”
“How would you know about…”
“You pick shit like that up. I don’t know how I learned it.”
Mikah smiled. “Well may the Loa be on your side tomorrow.”
I nodded as I pocketed the vials and tucked the book under my arm. “Thank you so much for looking out for us.”
“My pleasure,” Mikah said. “But I want a good weekend with Isabelle when this is all over.”
“You see, such a man. Always looking out for yourself,” I said, jabbing Mikah in the shoulder.
“Was that sexism just now?” Mikah asked.
“No such thing as sexism when it’s against men. Didn’t you know?”
“That’s bullshit,” Mikah said, shaking his head and smiling wide. “Stereotyping is stereotyping no matter who it’s about.”
“Language, sir! I don’t think I’ve ever heard you cuss like that.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“Damn! That’s twice now. I must be rubbing off on you!”
You’re so bad for him, Isabelle said with levity in her tone.
“Isabelle agrees. I’m a bad influence.”
Mikah winked back at me—probably intending to direct the wink toward Isabelle. “As I said, to the both of you. May the Loa be on your side.”
Chapter Twelve
A circular table sat in the middle of the auditorium. It was made of white granite, smooth and polished. Five chairs were arranged around it, a large candle set at each place. I looked around the room.
A large blackboard panel was set up behind the table, featuring the veve of each College Loa beside the five competitor’s names.
I didn’t know what the rules were. But I knew my strategy. I’d spent most of the night practicing wax carvings with Pauli. Trying to focus on anything with Pauli around is nearly impossible—but I managed. I was reasonably certain I could carve Erzulie’s veve from memory in thirty seconds or less. I was putting my faith in Laveau’s Death Rites. She’d chosen me to compete, so I’d follow her directions and see what happened. At the very least, I figured, without worrying about the particular terms of the competition, I wouldn’t have to waste time coming up with a strategy. Of course, I also had no clue what this spell would do. Considering the fact that I was seemingly invoking the power of the headmistress herself, and her prized pupil was at the table, it was sure to chill Erzulie’s attitude toward me even further. Not like I cared much. She loved my sister, her newest initiate. Hated me. Tolerated me for the sake of Ashley. Still, the fact that the Voodoo queen had nominated me gave me a little less hesitancy than I’d normally have about pissing off Erzulie.
“The terms of the first trail are simple,” Erzulie said. “Do not mistake the simplicity of this challenge for ease of completion. First, the simple goal is to be the last remaining at the table. No physical force is permitted. No other aspect of the Voodoo arts is allowed. The use of your particular aspect is strictly forbidden.”
Erzulie cleared her throat and looked directly at me. “No power of any other kind may be utilized in completing the trial. A violation of any of these rules will result in your immediate disqualification. Again, I repeat, you may use nothing other than what you can do through the mastery of candles and oils to find a way to force your competitors to leave the table.”
Erzulie gestured toward the table, and I approached my designated seat. It was a wooden chair, draped in a banner embossed with Oggie’s veve, which doubled as our college’s sigil.
“I should note that if you must leave the table for any reason, it is as good as being eliminated by a competitor,” Erzulie explained. “There will be no bathroom breaks. No meals will be served. I hope you all came prepared with the oils you might require. All that is provided is your candle. How you proceed, barring a violation of the aforementioned rules, is limited only by your knowledge and abilities.”
As I took my seat I glanced around the room. Pauli was impossible to miss—he’d managed to teleport himself atop a giant lamppost that illuminated the room. I’d never been in here before. It was not in the academy, one of the many buildings in Vilokan I’d never had a chance to enter. Bleacher seats surrounded the middle of the area where we sat, and the crowd that filled the seats must have consisted of every one of Vilokan’s citizens, and probably others who had access but didn’t live here. Oggie and the other Loa of the five colleges were in the front row. Two other seats, larger and seemingly more comfortable thrones of a sort, were placed halfway between our table and the other Loa. Agwe sat in one as the girl whose full-time job was dedicated to moistening his skin stood behind him, sponging his shoulders. Erzulie took the throne next to him, and with the rise of her hand declared, “May the first trial begin.”
I quickly retrieved my knife and oils from the purse I’d packed them in. I’d packed a few extra oils, too, just so the other competitors wouldn’t catch on to what I was doing. Brayden sat beside me to the left. Tressa to my right. Sauron and Dudley sat beside one another on the opposite side of the table. Each of us were busy whittling at our candles.
Thankfully, Erzulie’s heart-shaped veve wasn’t particularly difficult to carve: a single heart with a series of lines crosshatched in the middle and a few curved flourishes at the top and bottom. Relatively speaking, it was one of the simpler veves. Still, carving anything in wax can be a challenge, particularly when the pressure is on.
I glanced around the table as I finished my carving—all the other competitors were still working on their veves. I was in good shape. I reached for the necessary oils combined in a single vial and dressed the candle. I retrieved a match from my satchel and lit it.
Everyone else stopped moving and stared directly at Tressa—not me, Tressa. A pink glow emanated from her eyes and flowed across the table, enveloping Sauron and Dudley.
I looked at Brayden, who was grinning widely. He nodded at me to communicate his respect for the move I’d just pulled off.
He quickly looked back at Sauron and Dudley, who were now locked in a passionate kiss. Their fingers were tangled in each other’s hair as they both tumbled to the floor, enthralled in their magically inspired passion.
Two down…
The whole crowd erupted in a raucous cheer—but it quickly quieted down as Agwe stood from his throne and approached the blackboard. He took a piece of chalk and drew a single line through Tressa’s name.
“No!” Erzulie protested. “You can’t disqualify h
er for that!”
Agwe stared back at Erzulie with narrow eyes.
“I protest!” Erzulie shouted. “The use of an aspect is forbidden, but it was Mulledy’s spell that caused it. She is the one who should be blamed for invoking a Loa’s aspect to aid in the trial.”
Loud boos erupted from the crowd. I chuckled a little. Was the crowd actually on my side?
“Husband, a word,” Erzulie said, the irritation in her voice as grating as the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard.
Agwe approached Erzulie confidently. She was whispering something in his ear, but no one could tell for sure what she was saying. Based on the contorted expression on Agwe’s face, it was clear he was not exactly pleased with what she was saying.
The whole crowd was murmuring, abuzz with what was likely speculation about what was happening. I’d effectively eliminated three competitors in about two minutes. It was clear that Erzulie wasn’t thrilled by it.
I could almost see steam pouring from Agwe’s brow as Erzulie spoke to him. His traveling sponge girl dabbed his forehead with what I guessed was cool water.
Erzulie stepped forward.
“I have ceded jurisdiction over the games to my esteemed husband, Agwe. However, I do retain authority over the Academy, and it is within my power to suspend or expel any student who breaks our rules. As you all know, it is strictly forbidden for any student to dabble with powers that belong to a college other than their own.”
The crowed began jeering again. A loud voice screamed, “That’s bullshit!”
I agreed.
Is she going to try to expel us? Isabelle asked.
I shrugged.
“It would be within my right to expel Miss Mulledy for her tactic today, which would, in effect, render her no longer eligible to compete in the Trials.”
The boos swelled so loud this time that the sound rattled my eardrums.
“However, in the spirit of the Trials and by Agwe’s insistence, we have arrived at a compromise. These three were simultaneously eliminated from the trial; therefore, none of them will be eliminated. All will proceed to the second trial. However, this trial must continue. The competitors from College Ogoun and College Aida-Wedo may proceed.”
There were still a few boos—it was clear that Erzulie was relying on a technicality to spare her prized student while also attempting to cast aspersion upon me. Nonetheless, there were a few claps scattered around the room, suggesting that most were at least happy to see that I was permitted to compete and complete the trial.
Brayden and I rearranged our chairs so that we were beside each other, facing the crowds.
Brayden looked at me briefly and then turned his gaze away. “Don’t look at me, but listen to what I have to say.”
I cleared my throat and turned to my candle, scraping off Erzulie’s veve. “I’m listening…” I said, my voice hushed.
“They are allied, you know. Dudley and Sauron. They intend to team up to eliminate the rest of us, make sure they are the two top seeds in the finals.”
I held my attention on my candle, so as not to betray to the rest of the room, observing us from afar, that we were hatching a plan of some kind right in front of them.. “I’m not surprised.”
“What do you say we do the same? Allies?”
Pauli had nothing but praise for Brayden—a child prodigy, but he was not just some kind of brat kid. He had a maturity about him as well that was beyond his years. I wouldn’t normally trust a competitor—but this kid came with Pauli’s endorsement. Pauli was a lot of things, but I trusted him. So, I’d trust Brayden by proxy.
“What do you propose?” I asked.
“Act like you’re busy carving your candle. I’ll do the same. Just carve nonsense into it. Dress it with a carrier oil. When we light our candles, we will both stand at the same time. They’ll call it a draw. Deal?”
I nodded. “It’s a deal. But why would you go for that? You’re far more advanced than I am. You could do this. You could win the round.”
“There’s more at stake here than winning,” Brayden said resolutely. “If you are the Voodoo queen’s favorite, she must have her reasons.”
“Then why not just let me win? If you think the queen wants it.”
Brayden chuckled. “Because I want to be in strong contention to win myself if you fuck up at the end of this thing.”
It was kind of funny hearing a boy whose voice hadn’t even changed yet use the word fuck. I would have laughed if it wouldn’t have given something away to the audience.
“Fair enough. Tap on the table leg with your shoe when you’re ready to light. We’ll try to make it look like we’re in a rush to beat the other. We have to put on a good show.”
Brayden and I continued carving—acting like we were desperately trying to work something complex when, in truth, I was carving nothing but smiley faces. I wouldn’t have known what else to carve right now anyway if I had been forced to compete with Brayden.
Brayden’s foot tapped on the table. We each lit matches, in almost perfect sync. Brayden looked frazzled, sweat beading up on his brow. He was putting on a good show. I tried to exhibit the opposite—as the obvious underdog, I smiled widely as I made it look like I felt I’d over-performed. We both lit our candles and stood up at precisely the same moment.
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Agwe approached the table. He looked at us intently—I hadn’t seen him so close before. I’d noticed his blue eyes earlier, but up close I could see his irises were actually moving, flowing like the sea itself. It would have been entrancing if I’d been afforded more than a quick peek as the Loa of the sea circled the table.
Brayden and I were still mostly beside each other on one side. We were facing the bulk of the crowd. When Agwe circled to the opposite side, he looked at Brayden and then at me. A wide grin split his face and he winked. Did he realize we’d orchestrated our “tie”?
There was no announcement. No declaration of a winner. He didn’t raise one of our hands like a referee at the end of a boxing match. Instead he lifted both hands toward the ceiling. The audience must’ve seen it as a declaration of victory or something, because the crowd cheered.
The youngest competitor… and the outsider. We were not the most likely winners, but the crowd seemed to love us.
Are they chanting your name? Isabelle asked.
I turned my ear toward the crowd.
“ANNABELLE, ANNABELLE, ANNABELLE!”
I couldn’t believe they were chanting my name. Just days before, they were all giving me the evil eye. Now I was the hero. Brayden stood next to me and lifted my arm in the air. The crowd cheered again. Everyone expected him to do well—but for me to effectively tie him for first, after eliminating three other competitors… it must’ve turned me, the “heel” of the Academy, into a crowd favorite in Vilokan.
I glanced toward Erzulie. Her face was red as a valentine, stripped of all the sentimentality. She was pissed. To turn the Loa of love angry must’ve really taken something. Somehow I was complicating her plans, whatever they were.
I’d won—well, tied for winning—the first trial. But it seemed that it might have been what Oggie had called a Pyrrhic victory after all. I’d make it to the second round… but how long could I survive the headmistress’s wrath? I wasn’t sure what she was going to do, but I did know one thing: she did not want me to win the Trials. And she’d do whatever it took, cut whatever corners or evoke whatever technicalities she could, to see to it that I didn’t.
Chapter Thirteen
Erzulie owed her status as headmistress to the queen. My participation in the Trials was at the queen’s behest. If Erzulie had her way, she’d have me booted from the Trials straightaway. She tried to, in fact, during the first round. I wasn’t sure if it was Agwe’s insistence, the fact that Marie Laveau had nominated me, or the jeers of the crowd that dissuaded her from fulfilling her threat to suspend me from the Academy and, therefore, the Trials.
Strangers I’d never
met were coming up to me as we left the hall where the trial had been held. I don’t know if any of them expected I’d win in the end—but I’d pulled one out of my ass (thanks to Laveau’s Death Rites) and now only had to survive a second trial before reaching the finals, where Oggie believed I’d have an advantage.
A hand gripped my elbow. I glanced at Brayden, who’d apparently found me in the crowd, and he nodded toward an open door down an alley between two nondescript buildings.
I followed him.
“Nice work in there,” Brayden said.
I shrugged. “You let me win.”
“I let you tie for the win.” Brayden grinned.
“So you’re really not trying to beat me?”
Brayden shrugged. “The one thing I know for sure is that we can’t let the next High Mambo be from Samedi or Erzulie. But no, I don’t really want to become High Hougan.”
“Why not?”
“I was pushed into this Academy at a young age. People say I’m gifted. Everyone called it an opportunity. It was a curse. I never had a chance to really be a kid, you know? The last thing I want—”
“Is to be thrust into another life of still more responsibility?”
Brayden nodded. “See, you get it! But don’t get me wrong. I will win if it comes down to it. If I have to in order to prevent one of them from winning. A High Hougan or Mambo from Samedi or Erzulie would be horrific. Can you imagine?”
“We’d either end up with a never-ending Halloween or—”
“It would be Valentine’s Day every day of the year.” Brayden chuckled. “And I don’t have anything against Sogbo, but what do you know of that Sauron?”
I shrugged. “Not sure. She was always cold to me until just recently. It’s like she just started trying to warm up to me after Nico died.”
“Find that suspicious?” Brayden asked.
I sighed. “I hadn’t thought about it, but now that you mention it. All I know is that she’s more in this for Nico than she is for Vilokan. She was in love with him, even though he never reciprocated her feelings.”
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