The Witch of Bourbon Street

by Suzanne Palmieri

  Sippie looked at Claudette. Her eyes were cast over with a film, gazing out unseeing, like the opals in a brooch Simone used to wear. It was damn eerie. And she looked so breakably thin, with stringy blond hair pulled back into a severe bun at the nape of her neck.

  “Crow!” Millie yelled suddenly. “Where you been, cha?”

  Crow flew down, perching on Millie’s outstretched arm, then moved up to her shoulder and then back down again, pacing. Sippie could smell her. She smelled like a vintage dress.

  “That damn crow better be bringin’ good news this mornin’, not bad,” Claudette said.

  “The crow bring what the crow bring,” said Dida, rocking in her chair. She lit up a pipe.

  He cawed loudly.

  “What’s wrong with you, Crow?” asked Millie.

  “There you go again, askin’ questions you already know the answers to,” said Dida. “That damn crow is here to warn us about somethin’. And we been talkin’ all morning about how we all feel something just ain’t right.”

  “Is that so, Crow?” asked Millie. “You puzzle out our mystery? Wish you could spit it out. We been sittin’ here arguin’ over what kinda bad is on its way.”

  Crow cawed again. Louder this time.

  It was Dida who stood first, arched her bent back, and placed the quilt she’d been sewing on her chair, before roughly pulling at Claudette to get her inside the juke joint.

  “Let’s check the cards. We been chattin’ all this time but never thought to use any of the magic we know we got. Millie, put on a kettle for the herbs, I’ll get The Book of Sorrows.”

  “You gonna go get in the boat, find JuneBug, and ask him to take you into New Orleans on such short notice?” asked Millie, frowning.

  “Ain’t got to. Frances has it.”

  “What do you mean, ‘Frances has it’? I thought we all agreed it stays at Thirteen Bourbon!” Millie said angrily. “That book is too damn important to risk exposure to storms or damp. Why on earth did you let her take it?”

  “Let her take it? You’re funny! No one lets or stops that girl from doin’ anything,” said Dida. “Claudette told me just yesterday.”

  “She tell you she was takin’ it, or did you ‘see’ she was takin’ it?” asked Millie.

  “Neither, Abe brought it to her. Why do you care so much? And she don’t need our permission to take that book for a spell. It’s as much hers as ours,” said Claudette.

  “And besides,” said Dida, “you should be glad she wants it. I swear there’s a glow comin’ off her all soft lately, you notice?”

  “Be that as it may, we know that a big storm is coming! That book should be safe on higher ground.”

  “Seems you be a little too upset about this, Millie, what you hidin’?” Dida asked sharply.

  Millie didn’t answer. She turned her attention to Crow.

  “Go now,” said Millie, shaking him off her arm. “Go tell Frances we want that book back right now. I don’t like that it’s here in the bayou, but we know you’re trying to tell us somethin’ and the book might help. Go’n, shoo. You bothered us enough for one day.”

  Crow hopped off but didn’t fly away. Instead, he peered inside the window at them.

  See them, Sippie. Listen to them. Learn.…

  Claudette slowly weaved her way around the carelessly arranged tables, eventually reaching out to hold on to the long bar that ran the length of the room. Dida switched on sets of mismatched lamps that made the whole place light up like a colorful paper lantern. Beads and crystals decorated every surface imaginable, and a strand of Christmas lights shaped like moons and stars draped across the stage at the back, glowing like candles.

  Dida helped Claudette find a seat at the bar. “Maybe Crow’s just worried over the hurricane on its way, honey, you think that’s it?”

  “No, Mama. I think it’s more than that,” Claudette responded quietly.

  “JuneBug!” yelled Dida while Millie disappeared into a back room. “Stop all that bangin’!”

  The banging stopped.

  “So what do you think it is, child?” asked Dida.

  “Don’t you think I would have told you if I knew?”

  “Why not look a little harder, cha?” asked Millie, reemerging and preening in the mirror behind the bar. “We all know your sight can be limited when it comes to things you don’t want to see. Which makes us money with tourists, but isn’t very helpful in times like these.”

  Hold on to your hat, Sippie girl, said Crow. This is why I brought you here. To see how they treat each other.

  “Frances will be better prepared than any of us for whatever it is that’s going to happen. Crow will get her, she’ll bring the book, and she’ll sit with us. Together we’ll be able to figure it out,” Dida assured them. “Things will go back to the way they used to be. The way they were supposed to be.”

  The kettle started to scream, and Dida rushed to the kitchen to quiet it.

  “She’s not going to pay him no mind. And she’s not comin’, she’s not goin’ to bring the book, and she’s not the damn savior of this family” said Millie. “I know her better than you do. She may be reconsidering some things, but she’s never coming all the way back. Trust me.”

  “I’m not in the mood to argue with you,” snapped Claudette. “But you should know when to hold your tongue, Millie Bliss. You’re always tryin’ to pretend you know her best, like you were a child raisin’ a child. But, you listen here, once and for all. She and I might have our differences, but she’s my daughter. You don’t hold no rights over her. And you ain’t been such a good friend lately, if you know what I mean.”

  Millie swung around from her reflection with a glare to face Claudette.

  It never takes much to set Millie Bliss on fire, especially when she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

  “You only want to lay claim on her when it suits you, Claudette. That’s not what a mother does. A mother is supposed to be there for her child. When was the last time either of you even checked in on her? Never mind. I already know the answer. Too long ago, that’s when.”

  “Ain’t my fault she took down the ropes that lead me to her place.”

  “Excuses. Always excuses. You’re a cold woman, Claudette. Alligators could’ve raised her better.”

  “Shut up! You just shut your filthy mouth, girl.” Claudette’s voice came out hurt and full of broken glass. “You have no idea, no idea what it was like havin’ a baby and bein’ blind! I was good to her, I was—”

  Dida came back in with a pot full of boiling water and set it down. “Not now, ladies. Not now.”

  “Tell her, Mama,” Claudette whispered. “Tell her I was good at bein’ a mama when Frankie was first born, tell her.”

  “You know you were, you don’t have to prove it to nobody,” said Dida.

  “We gotta hash all this out again? Really?” asked Millie. “Frances was four, I’d just come to live with you. Only six at the time. And you were supposed to be watching us. And Frankie was swimming in the bay by the lighthouse, and she got caught in that current. And you couldn’t see her, so I had to save her.”

  “I don’t need remindin’, Millie. I think about it every damn day. And besides, I meant the time before you came, when it was all warm and quiet,” said Claudette.

  “Millie,” said Dida, “You take too much to heart. You belong to us as if you were our own. That’s why we argue. Aint that right, Claudette.”

  Claudette shrugged and Millie looked as if she were almost sorry.

  “Look, Claudette, you know how I get when I’m mad. I’ve had a really bad couple of weeks. Don’t pay no attention to me.”

  “I hope Frankie never finds out you been with Danny.” Claudette spat out like a slap.

  “I swear to god I might lose my mind, Dida! Hold me back. If she weren’t already blind I’d put a fork in her eye.” shouted Millie.

  Suddenly Dida shouted out, “No one gonna listen to their matriarch? I told you now was not
the time! Claudette, we bettah leave this for today. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

  Crow flew away fast, not wanting an angry Millie to see him still hovering. Sippie had a million questions, but there were only two repeating over and over in her mind. Looping like his wings in the sky. Is Frances my mother? Are these my people?

  You already know, Sippie. You known for a long time. You dream of her. And your instincts keep drawing you to 13 Bourbon Street. You got to go to her, Sippie. Tell her I sent you, and you give her a message. You tell her I said to find Jack, find Jack, find Jack.…

  “Who in the hell is Jack?”

  “You know that too. He’s just like you.”

  As they flew back to her apartment, Sippie saw shadows everywhere. Omens, perhaps ghosts. Then they were in her bedroom again. Usually she’d wake right up, but now she watched herself sleep through Crow’s eyes. He didn’t want to leave her, and that’s when she knew why she’d felt sad before their flight.

  This it, Crow? The end of the line for you and me?

  You don’t need me anymore, Sippie. You find Frances, help each other. Maybe we’ll fly together again someday. But everything has an end. You get the choice on makin’ it happy or sad. Endings are just doorways, Sippie. Endings are just doorways, doorways.…

  And just like that, she was sleeping inside herself again. She was barefoot in a hallway, banging on a door, searching, with an ache in her heart, for something she knew she’d never be able to find. But that was just a dream, and part of her knew that when she woke up, she’d find the door she was always trying to open. The door home. Crow had given her everything she needed.

  And not one thing he gave her would help once she arrived on Sorrow soil.

  6

  Frances Tells Her Secret

  The morning Jack disappeared, I stood on my little porch, blissfully unaware of his plans, wrapped in a quilt to fend off the damp. I held The Book of Sorrows to my chest and looked up into the blue sky. The fig trees near Sorrow Hall were heavy with fruit, and I inhaled deeply the clingy sweet scent of the ones ripe for picking. That’s when I saw that strange, fine bird, Crow, swooping down and around, taking in what I’d grown up thinking of as “Crow’s World.” He only showed himself when things were about to change—a Sorrow sort of weather vane—for better or worse. “You bringin’ change, Crow? Because, if so, you’re late to the party!” I shouted at the sky, twirling, but he wasn’t paying me any mind. “Fine,” I grumbled. “I don’t need you to tell me things are changing anymore, I feel it buzzing all up inside me like a million honeybees.”

  I took a deep breath, opening the book with intention. I wanted to make my way back to those I loved. And the summer solstice ceremony that was held on Solstice Eve at Sorrow Hall every year seemed a fitting time to start. I’d been at the center of the celebration until I was fifteen and then never went to another one again. By the end of that summer I was in New Orleans masking my broken heart with the grown-up task of running our family business at Thirteen Bourbon. Then, when I came crawling home the following summer, bent and broken from my year spent in an upside-down world, part of me was afraid that on the off chance the magic was real, I’d set my family on fire with my mind. Millie took over my responsibilities, both here and in New Orleans … and I was just fine with that.

  But that was a lifetime ago, and dammit, I was trying. I’d prepare the teas and ointments for the ceremony, and that way, they’d just know I was ready to start living again and we didn’t need to have some sort of dramatic sit-down discussing it half to death.

  We Sorrows don’t like going soft.

  I turned to the chapter on celebrating the summer solstice. I used to know every last word by heart, but I hadn’t held that book in my hands since I decided to hide all up inside myself. “Okay, what do I need?” I scribbled down the list of herbs and took a basket with me into the garden.

  I glanced at Sorrow Hall in the distance and thought about telling—more like warning—them that I was fixin’ on forgiving everyone. But then I figured it’d be best to take the one-step-at-a-time approach. Those women could make me angry so quick, I might end up reconsidering my reconsideration.

  I picked through the herbs before deciding I needed some red phlox. It wasn’t in the recipe, but I could feel it would be important. It grew wild and tall along the dirt roads of the bayou running in and out of Tivoli Proper. If I was going to reclaim my talents, I should be as creative as I could be right off the bat. I went down to the river, pushed my pirogue out from the tall grasses, and poled down to Trinity Bridge, muttering to myself the whole way. “Red phlox … uniting souls, thinking alike … working together for a common goal … can help foster courage inside of people too afraid to love. Place the flowers in salads or teas, safe for ingestion. Perfect!”

  Just then I damn near fell out my boat when I saw Mama and Dida making their way back from what must have been a morning powwow with Millie at the Voodoo. They looked so solemn, like they came straight out a history book. If they were a painting, it would have been titled The Absurd History of the Bayou Witch Queens or something more impressive and equally ridiculous.

  “Mornin’,” I greeted them as I glided by.

  Dida almost tipped over their boat in surprise.

  “Millie wants the book back,” said Dida, blinking curiously.

  “She’ll get it back.” I shrugged.

  That was easy enough, I thought, securing my boat. Wading onto dry land, I looked down the road, over Trinity Bridge, toward the tall red flowers blossoming in huge clusters. I hadn’t been over that bridge for almost nine years, since I walked away from Jack and Danny. And I couldn’t deny that anymore. Sure, Danny fought me for custody, but I was the one who walked away. Feeling a chill wash over me, I knew I couldn’t cross that bridge, not just yet. I turned around and faced the dirt road. If I went south, I’d hit Saint Sabine Isle, which wasn’t much of anything anymore thanks to storms. It was where Danny and I—no, I wasn’t going to think about him. If I went left, I’d hit the Voodoo and loop back around to the other side of Meager Swamp. But if I turned right, well, I’d eventually hit another bridge just outside of Tivoli Parish, but it would take hours. A lot of poachers and Cajuns lived inside the woods off that road. But it seemed the best bet for avoiding too many memories too soon. The phlox grew there, too, thank the Lord.

  It felt good, surprisingly good, to escape the limited confines I’d set for myself. The soft crunch of dirt under my bare feet, the damp bottom of my skirt drying against my ankles while I picked wildflowers. It’s a good day.

  When I’d collected enough and turned to head back, it was as if my mood had turned right around with my body like it used to. All pride and sadness and hope for some real magic to happen that would heal me. I stopped thinking my way forward and found myself thinking my way back.

  I wish I hadn’t walked so far, because all I wanted now was to be safe at my little house. I didn’t want to think about the time I couldn’t get back. No amount of red phlox in the world could turn back time.

  If I could make a pie chart, like we made in ninth-grade math, mine would read: REASONS I LEFT DANNY AND JACK.

  Twenty percent would be red, with a label: “Unable to live a normal life without losing her mind.” Sixty percent would be purple (like the dresses I used to wear around New Orleans when I thought I was queen of the world) and labeled “Her deep, dark secret.” And the last twenty percent would be some kind of sick, sour yellow, labeled “Cursed.” …

  * * *

  Leaving behind things you love is the worst kind of drug. It makes you feel brave and solid. Love makes you crazy and leaving makes you sane, so why would leaving be anything but heroic? See how that works … it gets all turned around, and then the second you feel like your heart may fly untethered again, you take another dose of “leaving” and get yourself gone.

  When I left for New Orleans (intent on handling the business and becoming the witch everyone said I was supposed to be) I di
dn’t feel like I was leaving at all, I felt like I had arrived.

  “If I’m the queen of this Sorrow clan, then I’m gonna run it proper,” I’d said. And I packed up my things and left.

  I thought I was happy, that I knew everything, holding some kind of absurd court and loving every second of it. I’d always loved it, Millie and I grew up like wild things inside a traveling circus that didn’t travel. And the people, they came to us. “Come one, come all,” we’d sing out from the corner. “Come all you magic-less, lost, searching souls. Come see the sorrows your fortunes they hold. Explore life’s surprises before they unfold … right this way, right this way…” We’d dance to the tap-tap-tapping of steel-toed shoes and the shining moans of the brass bands echoing through the streets. And that old building full of crazy, with its stucco peeling back one hundred years of Sorrow memories captured behind its iron gates blooming with trumpet vines.

  And I loved our apartment on the third floor. How that hallway curved dramatically and the atrium that rounded out the back of the apartment had windows in surprising places that let light into all the dark corners. The golden lamplight that fell on the once red-painted walls now faded to coral, the lanterns with colored paper shades, and all our mismatched china. And those double French doors that opened into our secret greenhouse garden, its space filled with the scent of the bayou from the plants we needed to do our work.