Phantom's Row: Voodoo Love Series, #3

By Yessy Blue

Soulmates, eternal love, and a wicked witch who is hellbent on ripping them apart 

 

My name is Elvisa and on my eleventh birthday, I went before the gods of the Old World. On that day, I was sacrificed, and in death I could travel through parallel worlds, take on different forms, and reincarnate over multiple lifetimes. In death, I could fight against the New World God Teufel and his league of Masters. I could rescue witches, restore power, and ensure that the Old Gods lived once again. 

But in death I couldn't love. That was until I met Pedro Juan. Together, we needed to form a bond that would allow us to overthrow Teufel for good. Together, we could command the spirits and bring back the Old Gods that Teufel had imprisoned. But when I was dead, another woman had put Pedro Juan under her spell. A woman who was hellbent on destroying me, ensuring that I never loved, or lived, ever again.  

 

 
Phantom's Row is the third installment of Yessy Blue's Voodoo Love Series, a dark paranormal fantasy with a titillating romance. Phantom's Row is perfect for fans of Richonne from The Walking Dead television series. It is a book that you won't be able to put down. From zombies to witches to love spells and ghosts, this is a book that will have your heart racing until the end.  Buy now, and unlock the fantasy today!

 

Other books in this series include: 

The Garden of Shadows and Bones

The Hexen Bond

Phantom's Row

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yessy Blue
• Release date: Nov 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393941927

Book preview

Elvisa

Iremember the day that I died. It was the day that they offered me to the great gods as a human sacrifice. Unfortunately, I also remember the day when I was brought back to life. Yes, I’ve been to both places, both worlds. The world of the dead and the world of the living.  And, I can honestly say that I liked the world of the dead better. You may wonder how I died, and I must say that I don’t remember everything, although I have pulled bits and pieces together throughout the years. Or, rather, through the lifetimes I’ve traveled to.  Besides, our Queen Mother, Oya, always said that memories from a different lifetime should stay in that lifetime. 

Oya was my Queen Mother. I loved her so much. I remember the first time I visited her palace. I rang the doorbell nine times before it swung open. I stepped in and looked around me. Darkness. I walked in further, holding out my hands, and feeling the area around me for guidance. I paused when the curtains were drawn back, revealing a huge stained glass window. The room flooded with bright light. I stopped and stared at the window. I had seen stained- glass paintings before, in different worlds. I had seen pictures of the Virgin Mary with baby Jesus, and pictures of Jesus holding a cane and a sacred lamb. But I had never seen a stained glass picture of Oya. 

In it, her skin was the color of black pearls, her hair neatly cropped, her eyes wide and evenly set apart. She didn’t have a stitch of clothing on, aside from an elegant neck piece that appeared to be made of solid gold. She sat, sidesaddle, with full pear-shaped breasts and perky dark nipples. Her shapely legs were placed one on top of the other, and she was smiling.  A sleepy smile, as if Oya was in on a little secret. My eyes moved from the window to the pantry to the dining room. 

Everything was so lush and elaborate. The chairs looked to be made of solid gold. There were marble tables with richly ornate legs. There was a huge oval- shaped mirror trimmed in ivory pearls. There were statues in the shape of human skeletons, but instead of their bones being a pasty white, they were adorned with diamonds, emeralds, garnets, and moonstones. The palace sparkled and glittered like a pirate’s chest of stolen jewels. 

Colorful African masks hung on the wall, and I walked past them. There was a mask for the god of war, Ogun, one for love, Oshun, one for maternity, Yemaya, and one for fire, Chango. I stopped at the last mask and read the caption. The god of death and alchemy, it said. It was black, with slanted eyes and a gaping opening for the mouth. I ran my fingers across the face; the jewels were jagged and sparkled like rich rugged diamonds. 

Elvisa, you’re here, said one of Oya’s servants. 

Yes, Oya summoned me, I replied. 

And your sister? she asked. 

I’m here, said Celia. 

Oya’s servant shook her head and motioned for us to follow her to two giant double doors. She opened them; we walked in and gasped. We had never seen anything like it before. The room had a high ceiling that seemed as if it could have reached the sky. It was painted with a beautiful mural of a sunset and man and a woman flying hand in hand throughout the air.  There was a beautiful waterfall in the room with water that burbled as it fell over giant rocks and streamed into a large indoor pool. The room was cold, almost freezing, and filled to the brim with tension. Oya’s servants were apprehensive. They walked about frantically, their bare-breasts jiggling, their bare-feet shuffling across the cold hard floor. They were dressed like servants, wearing layered skirts, with colorful arm and wrist bands.  Some had their hair pinned up high, while others wore colorful kerchiefs wrapped around their heads.  Celia and I were dressed in modest white gowns, our feet were bare, and our hair was parted in two short braids with white barrettes clasped on the ends of them.  We stopped in front of Oya’s throne and Celia squeezed my hand. She felt what I felt: fear. Oya smiled and asked me to come closer. 

I did and fidgeted with my barrette clip. I stopped when I realized that everyone in the room was looking at me. I lowered my hand and looked at Oya. She could sense that I was afraid. She smiled, but it did nothing to ease the fear.  

My sweet child, Oya whispered. I know that you’re afraid, but you need not be.

I swallowed back a knot of fear and squeezed Celia’s hand again. My heart raced and I began to feel the butterflies deep in my stomach. 

Tonight you will be bestowed with the highest honor, said Oya. 

Honor? I asked, my voice quivering. 

Yes, of course. Tonight is the night that you become my Hexen, said Oya. 

A Hexen, I repeated, not really understanding what that meant. 

The people in the room chuckled and looked at me with a mixture of respect and admiration. 

The Hexen has been around for centuries, said Oya. She is the one who takes life and gives it back again. 

I shook my head and pleaded with Oya with my eyes. 

I don’t want to be a Hexen, I said. 

Of course you do, said Oya. You’ll marry and be one of the most powerful goddesses in the New World.

I don’t want it, I replied.  I didn’t want to leave the palace. I didn’t want to leave Celia. I just wanted to stay here with all the others. I wanted to eat candy and sweet cakes, play in the rose gardens, travel to different worlds, and become different people. I didn’t want to be a Hexen. I swallowed back my fear again and looked at Celia. She looked scared, too. 

Don’t worry, says Oya. You can always come back. Both you and your sister. 

Will I ever see her again? I whispered, my voice breaking, looking at Celia. 

Of course, Oya said, with a light chuckle as if I had asked the stupidest question in the world. You will be reborn together. 

A woman with a tray stood next to me. I grimaced and wiped my brow. My gown was soaking wet with sweat and sticking to me. The woman grabbed my arm. 

No! I don’t want to leave my sister! I screamed, as the woman tugged on my arm. 

Elvisa, this is your sacrifice to me, Oya said, placing a dainty hand on her chest. 

Please, I pleaded, dragging my feet on the floor. The woman snatched me up and threw me over her shoulder. Celia stepped up and beat on her legs and thighs. 

Stop this you two! Oya demanded. I will not have my daughters acting like fools. 

I stopped and allowed the woman to place me in the tub. The water was only lukewarm, but soothing. She dunked my head in and splashed water over my neck and ears. My heart was still pounding as she held down my shoulders so that I lay flat. The people in the room gathered around and chanted. 

My spirits love me. My spirits guide me. My spirits turn my darkness into light.  

My eyes widened with fear as a woman stepped up holding a large knife. My chest was tight, panic traveled through my body like an electric current. I flailed my arms and legs, splashing water, trying to get out, and almost pulling in the woman who was holding me down.  All my efforts were fruitless, as another woman came around from the back and held me still. I stared, my head above the water and my body submerged, panting, heart racing as the woman brought the knife to my chest, and then my neck. I shook my head, as I felt the blade puncture my skin. The woman behind me yanked my head back, and I looked up at the mural on the ceiling. I stared at the man and the woman. They looked so happy together. Were they in love?  I found myself smiling as the knife dug deeper into my neck. I continued to smile as the blood gushed out of my crescent-shaped wound. I was even smiling as I relieved myself and the water turned into a muddy brown goo.  I smiled as my soul rose from my body. I eyed my lifeless corpse floating in the pool filled with bloody water and fecal matter, and my heart fluttered. I wanted to dance with gaiety. But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t even be happy. I was dead. 

Sleep well my child, said Oya. When you wake, you will love like no one has loved before. 

I was dead. Dead. I thought that I would go to heaven, or maybe even hell. Instead, I was forced to roam around in darkness, by myself. I wondered where Celia was. Oya had promised me that we would always be together. I dreamed about Celia every night. I prayed that when I opened my eyes she would be there, leaning over me, smiling like she always did. The nights passed into weeks, weeks into months, and soon I lost all hope. I wanted to keep thinking about Celia, but instead another face and another named came into my mind. At first, he appeared as just a shadowy figure. Then he took form and flew around me like an angel with wings. One day I gained the courage to ask him who he was. He told me his name was Pedro Juan. From that day forward, I was never alone. Pedro Juan was there. When I was afraid he’d talk to me. When I was lonely, he’d sing. And when I wanted to be held, he held me. We ran about, holding hands, flying through the portal and visiting parallel worlds. So many worlds. One night, we both sat, high on a mountain, as we watched the sunset. It was on this night, that I realized where I was. I was in heaven. We fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The next day Pedro Juan woke me up with some disturbing news. He told me that Papa Legba had come to him in a dream. Pedro Juan was being called back to earth.  There, he would take on a human body and fulfill his purpose of being the male Hexen. I stared back at him, confused. He was leaving me? How could this be happening? My heart sank as I held his hand. He pulled me close and whispered that we wouldn’t be separated for long. I certainly hoped that was true. We spent the rest of the day together. As usual, we lay in the evening, holding each other, and watched the sun go down. When I woke up the next morning, Pedro Juan was gone. Loneliness started to eat away at me. Over time, madness took its toll and the only way I could survive was through my memories. I kept thinking about Pedro Juan. I thought about his voice, his smile, his laughter. I would imagine the nights when he wrapped his arms around me. Thinking about my past helped me escape a present that was dark and foreboding. Other memories floated to the surface, memories that I thought were gone forever. I started thinking about all the lessons that I learned in Oya’s palace. 

 Oya and the other Orishas had taught Celia and me so many things. She taught me that our body - our flesh - simply dissipated, but our soul remained alive. It was our soul that could travel through different lifetimes, into different worlds, and could become different people entirely.  The soul would repeat the same cycle, over and over again, until it reached the highest realms of reincarnation. Some people called this realm Nirvana. We called it The World of the Egungun.  In this realm the souls reached the heights of gods. Their powers and abilities were omnipotent and they could guide their loved ones from the other side. In the Old World it wasn’t uncommon for people to honor their ancestors.  We needed them. In many cases, we couldn’t survive without them. We needed their love, light, and guidance. Most importantly, we needed their ashé.

Oya had said that there wasn’t just the world of the dead and the living. There was also the New World and the Old World. The New World comprised old gods, indigenous rituals, and magic. That world was all about balance and unity, despite what the new gods said. The New World had just one god named Teufel. Teufel had given an ancient cult known as the Masters dominion over all land, bodies, and souls. But Oya said that they’d been making a complete mess out of things, which was why the Mothers were sent to the New World to clean things up and restore order. I was born to be a Mother.  My family knew that from the very beginning.  We were born in an old African village called Yoruba Land. In our land, twins, in particularly identical twins, were considered sacred. Our mother told us that she felt that we were special the second that we were conceived, and that she confirmed it the moment we were born. I was born first, and came out kicking and screaming. Celia came out second and she was just as quiet and still as a garden statue. My mom said that she would occasionally pinch Celia to see if she was still alive and breathing.

When we were about six months old our mother took us to get our first reading. She strapped me onto her chest, and Celia onto her back and marched a good three miles to see the town’s priest. He took out the ancient divination system known as the Odu and started our readings. Our town’s Babalowo was old, and a little senile. His skin was ashy grey, and his eyes were glassy and blue from cataracts, but momma said that deterred no one from seeing him. In the Old World, the elderly weren’t just considered wise, they were considered magical. They no longer needed the body to function, they just called on the ancestors to guide them, to give them strength, to help them see. 

 Look here, the old Babalawo said, smacking his gums. These two girls were born on February 29th, that’s a sacred day. They will not live long.

What? momma said, concerned, holding me and Celia close to her breast. 

They will be sacrificed on their eleventh name day, he said.

No, momma said. 

They will come back and be the most powerful witches in the New World. Witches that are stronger than gods, he said, rubbing his prickly chin. 

Please, don’t let Oya take my babies away, momma said. 

One will be a Hexen, the priest went on, ignoring momma’s pleas. She will marry a male Hexen and together they will save the Mothers. They will have a place again in the New World. 

What do I do? said momma. 

Give them to Oya. She’ll train them, tell them everything that they need to know, he said, noting