The Arcane Ancestors Collection Books 1-4: The Arcane Ancestors Collection, #4.5

By C.S.Kelly

Book One: Defiled by the Grave
I am Nevaeh.

Vae.

I prefer 'Vae', please.

I was just raped.

All I ever wanted was for a nice man to notice me, fall for me, be unable to resist me… so, I guess I got what I wanted, huh? He called it 'making love after a romantic evening'. He said he was unable to stop himself because 'the heart just knows what it wants'.

There's not much I can do about it. I can't go to the police or lawyers. Who would believe me? He's rich, attractive, white… I'm nerdy, poor, fat, and black. Who would believe a woman like me, over a man like Rhys Ritchton?

I just want to forget it ever happened…

Except, now my ancestor, Beula, is coming back from the grave- haunting me- telling me her short-lived survival story… And, along with Beula, has come Erzulie, a Voodoo goddess, who wants to help me get vengeance. Using witchcraft!

I no longer know who I am, or who to trust, or what to believe. My only constant source of support is my best friend since childhood, Rose…

But, could she be hiding something from me, as well…?

Book Two: A Crow to Pluck
My name is Ryleigh Byrne. I am not well. My mind plays tricks on me, even as my body is betraying me. I'm not yet twenty years old, but I now live at Peachfield Manor, an assisted living facility almost exclusively devoted to the elderly, where I must rely on the aid of nurses just to survive.
Life isn't fair.
And something isn't quite Peachy at Peachfield. My fellow residents- sweet old ladies and grandpa figures with dementia and physical limitations like my own- are being killed! And I think I know by who… or should I say what?
I see things. At night. Hear things. In the Dark. Evil things…
I know things are not as they seem. Peachfield is home to more than nurses and psychiatric patients. There's something dark living inside these walls, preying on the most vulnerable inside. Lady Death- The Morrigan- herself told me so.
When no one else believes me, I have no choice but to team up with my hot non-binary nursing aid, Larkin, to do a some investigating…
Before any more patients end up dead- myself included.

Book Three: And Swear You Died
When nonbinary Larkin Summers returns to university to distract themself from their crushing grief, they meet a group of young witches- a coven- led by Charity, keeper of the local occult shop, and Nevaeh, a Voodoo priestess.

When a mysterious spirit offers to make Larkin's dreams come true in the form of justice, vengeance, and necromancy, how could Larkin say 'no'- especially when 'yes' could mean being reunited with their lost love?

How will they react to a new, queer romance budding?

Will the coven have their back, when things take a dark turn…?

Book Four: Come Hell or High Water
Miriam is a young mother, new wife, university student, and witch. When she takes a remote summer vacation, she is betrayed and assaulted by three people she loves and trusts like family.

With nowhere else to turn for help, she finds protection and deliverance in her goddess, Athena, and her ancestor, Natasa.

Cutting herself free from the web of lies she's been living in will require Miriam to undertake a journey of personal discovery and growth of Herculean proportions and be reborn like a Phoenix from the ashes of the lives she burns down.

How will she ever be able to trust anyone--especially her husband--ever again?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.S.Kelly
• Release date: Sep 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223030485

C.S.Kelly

C.S.Kelly has lived in rural Mississippi for thirty-two years, surrounded by all the good, bad, and ugly of the Dirty South for more than three decades. With the ever-present backdrop of ancient cypresses and oaks, murky swamps and dense woods, even mundane everyday life can take on an air of mystery and magic! She has been writing Urban fiction for over two decades including such series as: “Just South of Normal” and “Cleansing the Darkness”, as well as high fantasy such as “The Realm of Althea”. She has also pioneered the brand new genre, Contemporary Witch Fiction with her series “The Arcane Ancestors Collection”.

Book preview

The

Arcane Ancestors

Collection

Defiled

by the

Grave

By C. S. Kelly

Acknowledgements:

A special thank you to The Book Well Agency and my editors, K. Boutwell and S. Shaw, as well as their fantastic design team, Abigail ‘Queen’ of Nigeria, and K Boutwell of the USA, who came together to create such hauntingly beautiful covers for the Arcane Ancestors Collection.

In addition, I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude to the following individuals for their contributions to research for this story: Bob Corbett, Jan Chatland, Miranda Furrer, and D. C. Boutwell.

Furthermore, I would like to thank the hospitable folk of Old Town, Calhoun County, Starkville, Oktibbeha County, and Mississippi State University, Mississippi, for allowing my team and I to poke around your cemeteries, historic buildings, and towns. We thoroughly enjoyed our time in this area and were treated like celebrities. Thank you for enriching this story with your authenticity.

Logo, company name Description automatically generated

Defiled

by the

Grave

By C. S. Kelly

Copyright © 2021 by C.S.Kelly

All characters in this book have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. All characters, locations, and events depicted in this work are, in fact, works of fiction, and are not meant to represent any actual person, location, or event. Any similarities to individuals, locations, or events are purely coincidental, and the events depicted in this book are all purely fictional.

Chapter 1: 

The Date

This is all my fault . 

My fault. 

For being the romantic idiot that I am. For believing Disney's lies; believing that I could ever have that Cinderella kind of love. I should have known better. Cinderella doesn’t have curves like mine. No Prince Charming can lift me to sweep me off my feet. Elsa’s braid is blonde and her skin fair; of course she has the inner strength and familial resources to be a queen.

My kind doesn’t get the rom-com, fairytale, dream-come-true happily-ever-after. My kind can’t ever be strong; we can only be bitches.

My kind gets used. We are the side-kicks, the best friends, or worse, the villain. My kind doesn’t get redemption or vindication; we get defiled, demonized.

And now, whose fault is it but my own that I have fallen for this system of whitewashed patriarchy? When I have been warned against it all my life?

All my fault. 

My fault.

I GLANCE NERVOUSLY down at the phone held in my lap, under the cloth-covered table.

(Knock em dead Queen!) - Rose

The only text is from my best friend, Roselani Young. 

(He's standing me up. I just know it. I've been here for, like, half an hour.)- I text back, preparing to gather my purse, pay for my soda, and leave. 

Nevaeh? A deep, male voice makes me jump and glance up, I'm sorry I am late. There was traffic. Miraculously, he is even more attractive than his profile has led me to believe. Tall, blond-haired and blue-eyed, well-toned, well-groomed... 

'What could someone like him ever see in someone like me?' The voice in my head makes my stomach knot. Declan? Declan Ritchton? 

I rise out of my chair, awkwardly, and shake his hand. 

That's me, he chuckles, But I go by my middle name: Rhys.

I clear my throat and sit back down, feeling my face growing hotter, Yeah, you can just call me Vae. Everyone does. I drop back into my chair and he does the same. 

You are even more stunning than your profile picture, Vae, he gushes, flatteringly, Thank you for agreeing to come out with me. 

"It's my pleasure, I assure him, sipping my diet soda, So, what's good here?" I pick up the menu as a distraction from my searing face and the awkwardness of our conversation. 

Everything, Rhys chuckles, This is my favorite spot. And order anything on the menu, on me. Including wine if you'd like it... 

Oh, um, I glance up from the menu and meet his gaze, taken aback, I'm not legally old enough to drink. I'm only eighteen. 

Oh, His eyes widen, "I'm sorry. I never would have thought that. Our conversations led me to think you were closer to my age. You are so mature." 

I blink across the table at him, trying to gauge his age but unable to, "So, how old are you, if it's okay for me to ask?" 

Twenty-eight. He shrugs, But anything over eighteen is just a number, right? 

I release an awkward, relieved laugh, "I guess so... It has been really nice talking to you this past week." 

'It has been nice having any sort of male attention this past week...' I thought to myself.

I am the kind of girl guys just usually look over. There is no reason for them to look twice at me: my body is wrong- short and curvy in all the wrong places; my face is plain and could belong to anyone; my hair is always natural because I cannot afford to have it done professionally; I can't do make up to save my life; and my personality might as well be a cliché.

It has, he agrees, My roommate says I smile every time I look at my phone these days. He smiles at me, revealing dimples in both cheeks and his chin. My heart flutters. 

'Why?' I wonder, 'I'm not that entertaining...'

The waiter approaches our table and courteously asks for our orders. I have not even so much as read the first line on the menu, but I point blindly to the first thing I see. 

Rhys, on the other hand, orders steak au poivre, several sides, an appetizer, and a desert. Like I said, he chuckles, returning the menu to the waiter, This is my absolute favorite restaurant. 

I don't make it to this city often, outside of coming to class at State... I scramble for conversation, I live in Old Town, in Calhoun County. It's about an hour from here. 

Yeah, he nods, sipping his water, I've been through there a few times. Cute little town. 

I shrug, I guess 'cute' is in the eyes of the beholder. 

So, I don't think I've asked yet, he leans across the table, propped up on his elbows, What do you do for a living? 

I, um, I pause for half a second, fearing his impression of me being 'mature' would be about to fade, I'm still in school. A freshman at State. 

Wow, congrats, he smiles, radiating charm, I loved MSU! What's your major, or have you decided yet? 

Not really, I sigh, Liberal Arts for the moment, though I'm leaning toward English Literature, or History. 

You have plenty of time to decide, he shrugs, I didn't pick electrical engineering until the summer before junior year. 

Wow, you're an engineer? I blink, somewhat impressed. 

Hey! he beams across the table, "You passed the test! Most people would just say electrician, but honestly that's a little insulting. I didn't go to school for eight years and get a doctorate degree to be just an electrician." he chuckles, humble-bragging. I notice the shiny, expensive-looking watch peeping out from beneath his jacket cuff. 

But, hey, who isn't guilty of a bit of bragging on a first date? The whole point is to impress, right?

The waiter reappears with our meals and Rhys remarks, "Oh, I love their shrimp and grits! Good choice!" 

I have never had the entre before, but I my appetite has been destroyed by my anxiety anyway, so I pretend to mix the shrimp into the beige mush of grits, sipping my soda occasionally and watching him devour his steak, potatoes, and greens. 

The conversation begins to taper off. Frantically wracking my brain for something to say, I blurt out, Do you have any family?

He swallows the bite of cornbread in his mouth and answers me, Only my father is still alive. We are very close because we are all each other has, now. 

My chest tightens in sympathy, I'm so sorry to hear that. 

What about you? Do you have a big family, full of sisters and brothers and aunties and cousins? 

Honestly, the assumption was a little racist and insulting, but I brush it off. "No. It's just my mom and grandma and my little sister and me. I have this friend, Rose, who's like a sister to me, too, though. Honestly, we're closer than sisters." 

He smiles, though it doesn't touch his eyes and I assume it's because he can't relate, That's nice. I bet she really loves you; you're so sweet I bet you'd be the perfect friend to have. 

I feel my face burning again, Ah, well... I chuckle awkwardly.

Are you finished with your food? He asks, peering down at my barely-touched meal, You sure didn't eat much... Was something not to your satisfaction? 

Oh, no! I flounder, feeling guilty to insult such fine cuisine, I just wasn't very hungry. It tastes great but I'm full.

Well, would you like to get out of here, then? he offers, double meaning dripping off his words. 

I freeze. I have never been asked back to a man's house following a date before. Hell, I’ve never really been on a real date before... Needless to say, I’ve have never done 'that' at all...

I grew up in my Gramma’s church; I was sheltered and ‘raised right’. I wasn’t allowed to be alone with boys or watch ‘trashy’ television. Rose and I had had to sneak to watch our favorite movies- the Harry Potter movies- when we were kids. We’d never dared watch anything more damning.

I was raised to believe that, the moment I opened my legs, I would be worth less to my future husband, I would undoubtedly get pregnant and have to drop out of school, or get an STD and die. At which point I would be burned for all eternity in Hell for having premarital sex and sinning...

I am only just beginning to unpack all the luggage hidden away in that bag of crazy... College has been opening my eyes to so much...

Sensing my hesitation, Rhys doesn't even allow me to answer, "Don't worry about it. I don't want to move faster than you're comfortable with. But, could I at least drive you home? To your house? I'd like nothing more than to get to spend an hour ride getting to know you better." 

He reaches across the table and places his hand on mine, intimately. My heart flutters again and my stomach flops. 

'Is this really happening? How can this be true? He's soooo far out of my league! I better not mess this up!" my heart pounds away as I struggle to reconcile what is happening with my own depressing self-awareness. 

Um, sure, I smile, flattered that he would be interested enough to keep this date going. 

We stand up from our table and Rhys lays down a hundred-dollar bill, tucking it under his half-empty glass of water. 

Shouldn't we wait for the check? I whisper, What if they think we are dining-and-dashing? 

Rhys chuckles, I'll pay at the hostess's desk. That's just the tip. 

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OUTSIDE, RHYS LEADS me to a beautiful, black Rolls Royce without a single mark or smudge on her. This is me, he announces, before clicking the keyless entry. 

Wow, I breathe, unable to stop myself as my mind reels, You drive a Rolls? 

Only on the weekends, he shrugs, My usual ride is a bit more practical. 

What? I chuckle sarcastically as I carefully lower myself onto the Italian leather seat, A Mercedes?

Yes, actually, he responds, nonchalantly, A Benz S-class, to be exact. You know, I'm beginning to think you might be a touch psychic! He grins as he pushes the button to turn the engine on. 

We spend the hour drive back to Old Town running down the usual first-date questions: where did we go to high school, favorite books and television shows and foods, etc.? 

Dishearteningly, we seem not to have much in common. Still, he seems intensely interested in every word coming from my mouth. Hanging on my every word is just not how most men typically treat me. For once, I feel seen and heard...

I am telling him a story about last Halloween, when Rose and I went to the club dressed as witches from Hogwarts. "Honestly, I was geeking out so hard, but no one up in that club knew what we were supposed to be. Everyone kept calling us the Black Japanese Schoolgirls... We got so drunk, though! I chuckle, embarrassed, I couldn’t believe we got in but Rose has her ways!"

Hey, Rhys interrupts my monologue to ask me, Would you want to pull off somewhere and keep talking? I feel like I could talk to you all night, and I don't want this evening to end. 

My breath catches. 'I can't believe he's this into me!' I think in disbelief. 

Sure, I gush, That sounds great! I'm having a really great time, too! 

So, Rhys turns his spotless Rolls Royce off the road at his next opportunity, then a short ways down that dirt road, and finally pulls off, parking in the muddy drive of the secluded Old Town Cemetery. 

My heart hammers uncontrollably and a cool mist appears across my forehead and upper lip. I turn slightly in the passenger's seat, so that I can converse with him face-to-face. 

You have the most beautiful eyes, Rhys comments, making my face burn hotter than Mississippi asphalt in July, They're as black as night... And those lips... He reaches out, unprompted, and lightly runs the tip of his index finger along my bottom lip, Delicate petals of the darkest blood rose. 

He leans in and I realize he intends to kiss me. 

Panicked, I freeze. 

His thin, hard lips compress mine, demandingly. 

Instinctually, my lips divide and his tongue barges into my mouth like police in the ghetto. Ngh, I grunt, placing my hands on his shoulders and attempting to pull away, Mnm! Rhys, Rhys wait a second, okay? Hold up. 

He pulls away for a moment, What's wrong? he asks, his blue eyes full of compassion and warmth, Did I read this wrong? I really thought I felt something between us... 

Um, I, uh, I stammer, ashamed to admit that not only am I a virgin, I've never even kissed a boy, I just don't want this to move too fast, you know? Like, wouldn't it be more meaningful, if we got to know each other more, first?

His face pulls back into a charismatic smile, I think I like you even more, He coos, A woman of beauty, brains, and integrity. You are like a unicorn, Nevaeh... 

I blush even deeper and muster forth all the courage in me to reach out and take his hand, You can really look past... I glance down and back up again, indicating my body and size, My appearance? 

What are you talking about? he frowns, seemingly genuinely confused, You have the body of a goddess, Nevaeh. You are one of the most gorgeous women I have ever seen. You take my breath away. 

I roll my eyes. And that's why we shouldn't fool around, I joke, ever making light of my own insecurities, I'd suffocate you. 

Then, I'd die a happy man, Rhys's hand flies up to my face, takes control of it, and yanks it forward to meet his own. You should never question your own sensuality, Nevaeh. 

My heart pounding away and my stomach playing refuge to about two dozen butterflies, I attempt to kiss him back in all my ineptitude. 

He releases me, after what feels like only moments and eons simultaneously, Tell me you don’t feel this, too. He whispers breathily, Tell me I'm imagining this, Nevaeh. You are like my wildest dreams come true. Tell me you don’t feel this spark, too... 

I feel my face, and other regions, radiating heat. I-I... I breathe, unable to put my thoughts in order. All I can concentrate on is the pounding of my heart, the raggedness of my breath as it comes between movements of his lips on mine, and the growing warmth and urgency coming from my core. 

Really, He reaffirms, "I just can't help myself around you... No woman has ever made me feel like this... made me this wild... made me this hard..." 

Without warning, Rhys takes my hand and places it on the front of his tight blue jeans. I can feel a distinct bulge, at least as long as my hand and too thick to grasp. Horrified, I yank my hand away. 

What- But his mouth is covering mine again and I am unable to ask him what he's doing, or to tell him to stop. 

His hands clasp my wrists, yanking them above my head and shoving me back, against the uncomfortable car door. 

His lips never leaving mine and his tongue still jammed into my mouth, he transfers both of my wrists to one hand and grabs my left knee with the other. 

NNGH! I attempt to protest and push him off of me, bringing that knee up and attempting to use it as leverage to pry his body off of my own. 

My plan backfires, though, when he grabs my ankle and yanks it, pulling me down into the seat, my feet up at the roof of the car. 

Wait! I cry, as he suddenly grabs my other leg and flips me over with surprising strength. I'm not able to say anything else or beg or plead, because as soon as I am on my stomach, he has his hand on the back of my skull, pressing down with all his body weight, so that my face is buried in his fancy leather seat and I am barely able to breathe. 

'Nooo!' I cry to myself, disbelieving, 'This cannot be happening to me! This sort of thing doesn't happen to big girls like me. I'm not pretty enough to be RAPED!’ 

Despite my denial, my moans, my cries, I can feel Rhys haphazardly yanking down my tights and underwear and throwing up my flouncy skirt. 

Tell me you aren’t more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life, Rhys hisses in my ear as he positions himself atop me, "Tell me you aren’t soaking wet for me right now..."

NO! I beg, my voice muffled by the leather. 

'SOMEBODY HELP ME!' my soul calls out, just at the moment that I feel his erection pressing between my other set of plump lips. 'PLEASE! SOMEONE?! ANYONE!' 

My eyes focus on the centuries-old gravestone closest to where Rhys has pulled his pretentious car.

The name etched in to the weathered stone is barely visible, but as the heavy, sweaty body above me holds me down and does unspeakable, painful things to most personal pieces of myself, it is all I can find to hold my focus. 

Beula Stauddy

Born Oct 8, 1881

Died Dec 25, 1899

I read it over and over.

Beula Stauddy

Born Oct 8, 1881

Died Dec 25, 1899

Beula Stauddy

Born Oct 8, 1881

Died Dec 25, 1899

Beula Stauddy

Born Oct 8, 1881

Died Dec 25, 1899

The stone is covered in green moss, leaning backwards, and overgrown in weeds. No one has tended to it in decades.

The Old Town Baptist Church once associated with the cemetery burned decades ago and now only family members come to care for these graves.

No one alive remembers Beula. 

'Is that going to happen to me?' I fear, tears streaming from my eyes, into the expensive leather, "Am I going to die, at eighteen years old, and no one will be alive to remember to trim the grass on my grave in a hundred and twenty years?'

"Only if that is how you wish for your story to end, my child, a seductive, feminine voice echoes through my head, drowning out the sounds of my sobbing and Rhys's grunting and the crickets and frogs all around us. Should you but ask for it, I could give you all the power you could ever dream of..."

‘Wh-who are you?’ I ask the voice with my thoughts, ‘A-are you real?’

The only thing I know, for sure, is real in that moment is the pain. The horrible, dehumanizing pain...

"As real as you or that Neanderthal riding you, the hiss of her voice does not reach my ears, but I hear it nonetheless, As is the power I offer." The intonations and rhythms of her dialect make me think of various African accents.

‘I never dreamed of power,’ I lament, ‘I have only ever dreamt of love.’

My heart shatters with what was left of my girlhood, broken beyond repair.

"LOVE?! the voice scoffs, Love is meaningless, fleeting. If you have power, you can demand love. But, more than that, if you have power, you can demand respect."

‘I just want this to stop,’ I think in agony, begging the universe for relief, even in the form of death...

"Then so it shall be." The womanly voice states, matter-of-factly.

Immediately, Rhys’s entire body freezes and stiffens. He grunts and then releases me.

I am left panting, tears rolling from my eyes, with my exposed bottom still in the air.

Whoa, Rhys chuckles, zipping his jeans, Talk about a connection...

I-I didn’t want that. I whimper as I turn over. I’m not able to raise my gaze to meet his. "I would never have sex on the first date..."

I wonder where the voice has gone.

Rhys laughs.

My eyes involuntarily dart to him. I am confused and appalled as I yank my tights and underwear back in place.

Yeah, I mean, me either, he chuckles, repositioning himself in the driver’s seat, But the heart knows, you know?

I can’t believe what I am hearing, and I straighten the ruffles of my skirt as my chin and lips tremble.

I freeze as his fingertips land suddenly on my cheek, "I feel like we were destined to meet, Vae, he whispers, Like we might be... soulmates, or something..."

Chapter 2: 

Goodnight

"T hank you for such a magical evening," Rhys gushes as I stumble out of his car, my ankles wobbly in my sister’s high heels.

I hope we can do it again, sometime, he hands me my purse, leaning across the seat where he just violated me, ten minutes ago.

It’s good I know where you live now, he remarks, Maybe I can come over for supper and meet your family sometime? Your Mama and Granny... and your sister...

I can only gawk at him as he grabs the car door and pulls it closed, then lets the window down, "Goodnight, Nevaeh. Forgive me for not walking you to the door and kissing you goodnight and all that. I just feel like that’s all a little cliché, you know? And I do have a bit of a drive back and work early in the morning. I’ll be texting you, though; you can take that to the bank!"

He peels gravel as he tears out of the small trailer park I call home.

I am numb as I trudge across the loose gravel in my borrowed and perilous shoes to the outdated singlewide with a large ‘C’ hanging on the door.

I climb the steps to the small wooden porch my late grandfather had constructed. It moves slightly with every step I take as I near that ‘C’.

My name is Nevaeh Dianthya Kilgore. Kilgore is from my deadbeat. My mother, grandmother, and legend of a grandfather’s last names were Carlixte. My mother learned her lesson by the time she found her second sperm donor, and named my sister Lunaya Jade Carlixte, giving her the family name.

Which made me the only one in the house wasn’t officially a Carlixte. Destined to be an outsider...

I have always planned to have my name legally changed the moment I turned eighteen; but that process isn’t as easy as one might think and, in lieu of a marriage, not cheap.

My mind simultaneously blank and spinning, I rummage through my purse for my set of keys.

I let myself into the warm, homey living room and am met with Mama and Luna cooking in the kitchen while Gramma sits in her chair in the living room and supervises.

Nevaeh! Luna calls, a huge smile on her fresh, sixteen-year-old face, Just in time! We’re having beef tips!

I can smell the savory, rich aroma permeating the entire trailer. It’s mouthwatering, but I do not feel hungry. I feel ill.

I’m just going to bed, I mumble, heading for my room off the small hallway to the right of the front door.

Did your date not go well, Hunny? Gramma asks, her voice dripping with southern-grandma-sweetness.

Not really, I mumble as I duck into my room and close the door.

I sit down on the edge of my bed and  pull out my cell phone. Methodically, I begin to delete each and every one of my many dating apps. The thought of ever dating again makes my stomach boil and pitch. I can't. I won't. 

Tears begin to roll down my face. 

All I ever wanted was to be loved. To be desired. I just wanted, for once, for a man to look at me and feel his heart skip a beat. For once, I wanted a man to make a fool of himself for me, the way they all did over Rose or even Luna. Just once, I wanted someone to feel as though they couldn't live another day without having me...

‘I guess I got what I wanted...’

With every last disgusting hookup app gone from my phone, I plug it into the charger by my bedside and I allow my body to sink into the memory foam mattress. 

Broken, I weep. 

HOURS PASS.

I listen as Mama, Gramma, and Luna eat supper, chatting lightly about television shows. Then, with food cleared and leftovers put away, Mama and Gramma turn the station to their favorite sitcom and I can hear the dishes banging together as Luna washes them. 

I squeeze my eyes shut and attempt to cease existing. 

Ding-Ding.

I feel the hairs on my whole body stand on end in dread as my phone chirps. Part of me expects to see his name when I tentatively reach over and pick it up. 

Instead, it's Rose. 

(Hey Chick did he ever show up? Did you have a good time? Are you home now?)

In my despair, I consider not answering her. Part of me just wants to sink into this warm bed and never emerge again. 

But, it's Rose. 

(yes, no, yes)- I type back and press send, being intentionally vague though I know she will not let the subject drop until she has every last detail. 

(What happened?) She texts back, followed immediately by: (Come over. Now.)

The thought of pulling myself out of bed feels overwhelming. (No.)

(Yes. Or I'm coming to you.)

The only thing that sounds worse in that moment than getting up and driving over to her house is the thought of her showing up here, at mine, and having to explain what happened to Mama and Gramma. 

So, I sit up, sigh, unplug the cellphone, and tiptoe out of my room. 

The other three women of the house have turned in by this point, so I let myself out and pray none of them notice. 

Chapter 3:

Rose’s Place

Iturn my car into the yard of Rose's rented duplex, pull my aching body out of the driver's seat, and stand up. I hurt practically all over. The back of my head feels as though his handprint is bruised into it. My hips protest every step as I make my way up to her porch and tap on the asbestos siding next to her bedroom window, as always.

Within moments, the door swings inward and Rose is standing in front of me. Her big, golden eyes pierce me with an intensity unlike anyone else and immediately I know there will be no hiding this from her; but, there would definitely be no pretending this didn't happen, if I didn't. 

What happened? She demands, Did he make some stupid comment about girls and their appetites because I swear to God, Vae, real women eat... 

I feel my head shaking back and forth and my eyes watering, but I just shrug, No, it wasn't like that... And what would she know about how much a woman like me should eat, anyway, with her size 6 jeans, perfect, thin waist and round breasts... He... he just... wasn't 'the one', I guess... 

C'mon, She grabs my wrist and yanks me into her house, I'll get the wine and roll us one. I want to hear all about it. 

I roll my eyes as I plop down on her yellow, flowery couch, There's not much to tell, I lie, really.

Rose disappears into her kitchen for a moment, and then comes back with a bottle of red wine, two red solo cups, and a small makeup case in hand. You know I can tell when you're lying, right? She states, You aren't the kind of girl to write a guy off after one date unless there's a real reason, Vae. What did he do and how long can I expect my sentence to be? 

I just chuckle, though I feel no amusement at what she thinks is a joke. 

F'real, Vae, she hands me a filled glass of wine, and whispers, What happened? 

I attempt to avoid it, but she makes eye contact with me and that is the end of my lies. Without warning, tears begin to stream down my face. 

Oh, Vae! Rose cries, putting down her own glass before she even takes a sip, "What's wrong? What did he do?!"

I-I... I cannot believe the words I am about to utter. They can't be real... "I think... he raped me." 

Rose freezes and gawks openly, unable to digest my words, "He what?!" She finally breathes after a moment, murderous rage putting a razor's edge to her voice. 

I can only sob.

In two breaths’ time, Rose has thrown her twiggy arms around me and is holding me to her chest as my whole body is wracked with sobs. Oh, Vae, she moans with me, Oh, Vae... I'm so sorry. 

He-he offered to drive me home, I sniffle, recounting the story after many minutes spent weeping uncontrollably, He said he was having a good time and wanted to get to know me better... I can only stare at the glass of wine in my trembling hands, "It was going so... so perfectly, Rose... I just wanted to believe it could be real..." 

Her face is set in a hard, red, angry scowl. She truly does look capable of murder in that moment. 

I took an Uber because I thought I might drink, so I was glad I didn’t have to pay for one back... He started kissing me, I whisper, forcing myself to take a sip and hoping it will fortify my nerves, But I told him to stop. I told him I didn't want to move too fast... and then... then... 

He forced you, She says the words for me when I am unable and I am once more drowning in my own tears and shaking so violently I am forced to set the glass down before I spill it on her light gray carpet. 

I am only able to nod my head with my hands covering it. 

I'm going to kill him, Rose states, matter-of-factly, I'm going to hunt his sorry ass down and I am going to make sure he hurts as bad as you are hurting right now, and then I'm going to kill 'im. 

I shake my head, What good would that do? I whimper, Then you'd go to prison and I'd have no one. You're literally the only person aside from my Mama, Gramma, and Luna who would care if I died, Chick. I can't lose you. 

"You won't ever lose me, she reaches over and puts her hand on my forearm, I promise. But, in all seriousness, you have to go to the cops, Vae." 

She reaches across the space between the couch and coffee table and unzips the makeup bag. She pulls out a sandwich baggie full of little green nuggets and begins breaking them down with her long, crimson acrylics.

The thought of going to the police makes me feel even worse. It was bad enough telling Rose, the person I trusted most in the whole world apart from my Mama and Gramma and maybe Luna... but, telling this to a complete stranger...? Most likely a male stranger? It would feel like he was raping me, too. 

I shake my head vigorously, No, I decline, "No, Rose, I can't. I can’t just walk in the station- a girl who looks like me- and tell some white, male cop that I was raped by who very well might have been Rockefeller’s grandson! I’d be laughed right out of there, Rose! I can’t. They’ll say I’m just after his money or trying to ruin his reputation. He’s some sort of engineer and he’s loaded. Even his name reeks of ‘Old Money’. He drives a car that would give a popstar a wet dream... the leather seats felt like a baby’s butt... honestly, most women would die to do it in a car like that..."

I can feel myself rambling to I trail off. Rose has finished rolling our blunt and holds my gaze with an intense sympathy that makes me feel naked as she strikes her lighter and takes a pull to get it rolling.

"You didn’t ‘do it’, though, She insists, passing me the tobacco-wrapped tube of ganja, He raped you, Vae. It shouldn’t matter what kind of car he drives or how much money he has or what he does for a living or what color his skin is..."

"But it does, Rose! I nearly yell, tears streaming down my face, It does."

"Shh, she glances over her shoulder to make sure we haven’t woken up her roommate, Maybe not, she takes my hand and pleads, It’s a whole new world, Vae. It’s the twenty-twenties. Up until recently, we all wore masks in public and the skin beneath those masks isn’t supposed to matter anymore..."

You’re deluded if you really believe that, I hiss, taking a long pull on the blunt I am holding between my index finger and thumb, "It’s worse now than ever. This, I hand the blunt back, Is legal now, only so that accountants and bougie trophy wives don’t have to go to the ‘bad parts’ of town to get their smoke. There are still millions of black men in prison for selling it to them all these years. The ‘Me too’ movement did nothing. Every woman is still asked what she was wearing. Heals, by the way! I was wearing heals and a skirt. I swear I had leggings on underneath. But that won’t matter to them. The ‘Black Lives Matter’ movement was met with ‘All lives Matter’ and we were pushed to the wayside again! They’ll say I should have been flattered! That a rich, white man chose to pay attention to me- a fat, black girl from the trailer park..."

Stop talking like that! Rose begs, pulling on the bunt. The cherry glows brighter and travels further down its length. You’re not...

I’m not what, Rose? I snatch the blunt back from her and pull it down to its stinger. I exhale and answer for her, Fat? Black? Poor? Don’t lie to me. I reach out and take my glass of wine and down it in one breath. "I have about as much hope of my slave ancestors rising from the grave to whoop that white boy’s ass as I do a cop ever so much as questioning Declan Rhys Ritchton for suspected rape."

I AM STANDING IN THE Old Town Cemetery again. My heart races and I spin around, in a complete circle, searching the darkness around me for the dreaded silhouette of Rhys.

He is nowhere to be found, though. The only shadowy figures standing around me seem to be those of the large headstones and monuments.

Why am I here, again? I whisper into the darkness, confused, H-how? How did I get here?

A voice slips through the darkness, sending a chill up my spine that freezes me mid-step and mid-thought, "I brought you back here, the feminine, seductive voice curls through the air like fog, So that we could finish our earlier conversation."

Immediately, I know in my bones what I was brought here to do. I must find Beula Stauddy’s grave again.

I take off, jogging through the dark graveyard, glancing at each headstone. Most are too recent, too large, too perfectly scribed...

I remembered Beula’s to be small, rough and weathered, hand-etched... cracked...

There!

Close to the muddy drive, next to a broken, crooked tree, pushed askew and broken by its meddlesome roots... There is the familiar, tiny monument.

I slow my stride and walk slowly up to the grave. Hello? I whisper, feeling insane for talking to myself in a dark, empty graveyard at night, Who is here? Beula?

"Not exactly, the disembodied voice hisses back, still unseen, But I was a friend of Beula Stauddy... as well as others in her line... and I can be a friend to you."

I search the darkness, knowing the voice must be coming from somewhere.

Where are you? I demand, my voice still hushed.

"Not here, she hisses, not really... but, then again, neither are you."

What are you talking about? I growl, frustrated, turning this way and that, "Who are you? Show yourself!"

"I cannot show myself to you, the voice answers, infuriatingly, Not yet. I have many names, but you may call me Erzulie."

Er-Zoo-Lay...? I sound out the foreign name as I glance around, confused. The name feels familiar on my tongue though I am certain I’ve never heard it spoken before. Erzulie...

"Yesss, The voice answers in a hiss, I do enjoy the sound of my name on your lips, Dear Nevaeh."

How do you know my name? I demand, feeling uneasy.

"I know everything about you, Nevaeh Dianthya Kilgore. I have known you since you were but an atom within an atom as your Mama formed inside your Gramma’s womb. I have watched you grow from stardust to soul to fetus to babe... and finally to the girl you are now. So, too, have I seen the woman you shall become... every version of her. I’ve watched every pain, every lesson, every heartbreak... I know your every thought, and, what’s more, my child, I know your every desire..."

‘This can’t be real, I tell myself, wrapping my arms tightly around my shoulders. I am cold. The wind is biting, stinging the skin of my face and bare arms. SHOW YOURSELF!" I scream into the dark void of cemetery and surrounding forests.

"Finnne," the voice hisses in an amused tone.

I search the darkness, looking for the woman to step out of the darkness. Only, no one does.

I wait so long I nearly give up, and inhale to scream again, only to freeze and hold the enormous breath inside my lungs when movement catches my eye- strangely enough, down by my feet.

I kneel and examine the base of Beaula Stauddy’s headstone, where I spotted the movement.

From the overgrown grass, out slithers a tiny, brown snake.

The baser instincts inside me recoil, but something inside me knows this little snake is the source of Erzulie’s voice.

Tentatively, I reach out a hand and, without hiss or strike or coil, the little slug-eater slips onto my palm.

"I can help you, She hisses, her little tongue darting in and out, I can help you achieve what you desire most. I can help you take it for your own..."

I hold her up to my face so that I can better see her in the dark, Take what? I whisper back.

"Your vengeance."

Chapter 4:

The Name

Ifeel as though someone is watching me.

‘Nonsense,’ I attempt to reassure myself, "No one is looking at you. No one cares enough to even look twice at you. Just go to class like any other Monday..."

I am walking through the scenic campus, underneath gnarled, twisted trees so old they probably predate the university. There are literally hundreds of students walking around me, headed in all directions or else just mingling. Despite my paranoia, not one set of eyes lands on me.

Nonetheless, the hairs are standing up on the back of my neck, as they have been since Saturday night.

Sunday was spent nursing my bruised and hungover body.

Despite barely leaving my bedroom, though, I spent the entire day on edge. Every time my phone dinged, I froze in dread, fearing his name and number would pop up.

Mostly, it was just Rose, checking in on me. A few of the messages came from my family, wondering why I had not gone to church with them and asking if I was sick.

When Mama, Gramma, and Lilly got home from church, I faked homework and sequestered myself. Twice, as every day, it was a foreigner asking about my car’s nonexistent extended warranty.

I am no longer able to avoid the world, though, come Monday morning. I have classes, and a task... So here I find myself, a nervous wreck and barely holding my torn edges together, walking to Intro to Psychology as though nothing of consequence transpired over my weekend at all.

‘It was probably just some crazy trauma dream,’ I think back on the little snake and what she had said to me as I slept, unconscious from too much wine and smoke, as I slept on Rose’s vintage couch, Saturday night. ‘This is crazy. This stuff isn’t real...’

The snake Erzulie had offered to grant my every desire, had offered me revenge... and then she had given me a list of things to do- tasks, she said, I must perform to ‘manifest’ her presence in my reality... ‘Whatever that means...’

I begrudgingly climb the four steps and pull open the heavy, metal door to the social sciences building. It is one of the oldest on campus, once having been used as an infirmary, and even a morgue, during the influenza outbreak shortly after the university’s founding.

The building has always felt cold and foreboding to me. Unwelcoming.

I take the staircase down to the basement level and park my behind in one of the front-row desks inside the closest classroom to the stairway.

The classroom is small and dimly lit, by the standards of the rest of the university. It smells of bleach cleaner and dry-erase markers.

I place my bag on the desktop before me and withdraw my small laptop. I move the bag out of the way and begin waking the device by opening it.

I have arrived to class at least ten minutes early, as always, and I decide there’s no time like the present to prove myself unhinged.

I pull up the browser and open up my favorite search engine.

Basing my spelling on phonetics, I type: ‘Erzulie’, and press ‘Enter’.

Nearly five-hundred-thousand results.

I stare at the screen disbelievingly. ‘No way.’ I think, in denial, ‘No way that’s a real name... I just dreamed it up...’

I click the first result and up pops a Wiki page that makes my heart skip a beat:

"Also known as Maítresse Mambo Erzulie, or Zili, this entity is of the Loa, or Lwa, a family of deities in the Haitian Vodou, Voodoo, Hoodoo, Vodoun, and similar religions. Some believe the Erzulie not to be one entity but a family of many, due to her multifaceted nature.

"She is considered the spirit of: water, healing, femininity, protection, and is often depicted as motherly, as the Black Madonna. She is often seen as a protector of women, children, and society’s most vulnerable. She is believed to deal out justice to those who would harm them.

"Conversely, she is also seen as a symbol of sexuality and, more specifically, polyamoric bisexuality. Erzulie is said to have three husbands, also Loa, as well as to flirt with and seduce members of both sexes, both mortal and immortal.

"Perhaps due to her status as a fertility goddess, Erzulie is associated with ripe fruit, perfume, pompie lotion, champagne, pink and red roses, jewelry, knives, a pierced heart, white doves, and snakes.

To be possessed by Erzulie is a desired state by practitioners and is said to be an experience akin to spiritual orgasm, or alternatively, a warm motherly embrace.

I blink at the screen and reread the passage three times, in total, before the instructor walks in and calls for the entire class’s attention.

Out of obligation, I am forced to minimize my browser and open a document onto which to take notes; but, I can’t seem to focus on the lecture as my brain is replaying the entire dream from two nights ago on repeat:

HOW? I ASK THE TINY snake in my hand, How can a little snake like you help me give Rhys his just desserts?

"I am not just a little snake, Hun, the creature stares up at me with beady little black eyes, flicking its tongue, This is how I choose for you to perceive me... for now. First, for me to enter your world, you must conduct a tiny little ritual for me..."

A ritual? I repeat, confused, "You mean... like witchcraft?"

"If you must call it by the name the white man gave it, yes, Erzulie hisses disdainfully, Before the white man abducted your ancestors and brought them here for his amusement and enslavement, there was no such word in my tribes. The old ways have all but died out, here, forgotten, but that does not mean they do not still hold power, Sweet Nevaeh."

Power?

"Yes, She hisses, Power that could belong to you..."

Wha-what would I have to do? I ask, tentatively.

"Not much, really," I swear the tiny snake parts its jaws and smiles at me, "First, you must gather ingredients. I require a sacrifice... of the most succulently ripened fruit. And, champagne. You shall need a cauldron, a ceremonial blade, pompie lotion, perfumed candles and incense..."

SEE YOU ALL WEDNESDAY, the instructor dismisses class.

I have heard exactly zero words of his ninety-minute lecture.

Frustrated and full of existential dread, I close my laptop and begin to repack it into my bag.

‘None of this can really be real, though, right?’ I question myself, my sanity, my beliefs.

I have spent nearly every Sunday of my life sitting in the pews of Old Town Methodist Baptist Church, next to Luna and between Mama and Gramma. I have studied my Bible, read every book and studied every verse.

I accepted Jesus when I was thirteen and was baptized in that same church.

I remembered my Gramma’s words when I had brought home Harry Potter to read in the fifth grade: "We don’t mess with that kind of stuff in this house, Girlie! That’s only white folk that’s dumb enough to go a’lookin’ for demons!"

I throw my bag over my shoulder and rush out the classroom before the instructor can speak to me and I reveal my lack of interest in his lesson.

‘Gramma’s right,’ I decide, ’Better safe than sorry. That crap probably ain’t real, and even if it is, I ain’t messin’ with it.’

I exit the building and draw a deep breath of fresh air into my lungs. It seems to clear my head some, so I set off, walking towards the library to get in some studying before my next class in two hours.

Ding-ding!

My phone chirps and my stomach squirms.

‘Don’t be silly,’ I tell myself as I dig for my phone in the bag, continuing to saunter down the sidewalk, ‘He didn’t bother texting yesterday, so chances are...’

I finally lay hands on the device and pull it out. The screen lights up, illuminating the message and the name attached:

(Thanks again for such an amazing time the other night. I’d love to do it again. 😊) – Rhys.

Chapter 5:

Denial

My whole body feels sickeningly cold and numb. Sweat beads on my brow and I feel as though I might be sick. The world pitches treacherously. I sink down to sit on the bottom step in front of the building I have just exited and simply stare at my phone and the message on it.

‘How dare he?!’ an indignant voice hisses in the back of my head, ‘He intends to pretend it never even happened! He’s trying to make you question your own sanity, take your sanity, like he took...’

No. I growl, aloud, "Oh, Hell no."

(Do WHAT again?)- I type, impulsively hitting send between each sentence before I can chicken out and erase the whole thing.

(RAPE me in a cemetery?) Send.

(ASSAULT me?!) Send.

My breaths come in jagged, panicked puffs. My heart pounds in my ears. There are little white dots across my vision, pulsating with my pulse.

(WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!) – Rhys.

I feel ill as I read his text. His denial.

(I’m talking about you holding me down and forcing yourself on me, despite my saying no multiple times.) Send.

(Rape) Send.

(I don’t know what you are referring to. We had a lovely conversation about the stars, kissed, and then made love. I am sincerely heartbroken that you seem to have only been interested in the long game. You should know I am currently on speakerphone with my father’s law firm, should you get any ideas regarding charges or lawsuits. I hate that I fell for you, Nevaeh. I truly believed you to be a goodhearted woman.) – Rhys.

My hand shakes as I read the message over and over.

‘So, because I call out your bullshit, I’m the bitch? I’m coldhearted?!’ Hot, furious tears burn my eyes and my chin trembles, traitorously.

(Don’t ever text me again, or I WILL go to the police!!) I type the message and am about to press send with my shaking finger, but before I do, another text comes in from Rhys.

(Any further contact between you and I should go through the law firm of Ritchton and Figueroa. 662-331-4466 I will be henceforth blocking this number on my personal phone and all social media accounts. I hate this had to end this way.) – Rhys.

‘Son of a bitch!’, I fight the urge to slam my phone down on the cement step next to me or throw it across the green, into the street.

‘He shouldn’t get to get away with this,’ the seductive, feminine voice in the back of my head reminds me, ‘He should have to pay!’

Vae? Rose’s voice is like calming water on the fire of my wrath. I am jolted out of my murderous reverie and look up to see her approaching from the sidewalk. You alright?

I shake my head, vigorously, and the tears break loose from my eyes and roll down my face.

Rose jogs the last few steps between us and then drops to her knees before me, What’s wrong? What happened?

I can’t speak. There is a lump in my throat the size of Texas. Instead, I just hand her my phone and allow her to read through the messages for herself.

As she reads, the fingertips of the hand holding my phone become whiter and whiter and the other hand curls into a fist so tight I am sure her acrylics are stabbing into her palm.

When she looks up from the screen, her face is flushed and her lips tight. Her perfectly drawn brows are pinched together in fury. That son of a bitch! She spits.

"I swear, I finally find my voice enough to whimper, I swear, Rose! I’m not making this up!"

Oh, I believe you! she nods, handing my phone back, No one innocent lawyers up that fast. He’s denying it in the texts because he doesn’t want a paper trail. He’s smart.

And rich, I add, And his dad’s some uppity lawyer. I shrug, It’s no use going to the cops, so don’t even suggest it again.

"There are... other ways," Rose whispers, making and keeping my eye contact.

"What?!" I gasp, wondering briefly if I am still dreaming.

"You know I’ve been talking to that guy Leon? He has... friends... They could- you know- rough him up."

"Oh, I breathe a sigh of relief. For a second, there, I had thought she was referring to Erzulie and the summoning ritual... N-no, Rose, I refuse, No. Thank you, but no. I stand up, doing my best to compose myself, I can’t have anyone getting in trouble- or, worse, hurt- for me. He’ll get his due, in time, right?" I nod decidedly.

As I have mentioned, Rose and her family have attended the same church as mine since we were still in our mamas’ bellies. I know she assumes I am referring to Hell.

I throw my bag over my shoulder and take my leave, I have class. I’ll see you later?

She stands up, too, though her gaze bores into mine with intrusive sympathy, and nods, Yeah, see ya later.

Chapter 6:

History

Ispend the rest of my day meticulously avoiding Rose. I attend my remaining two classes and take myself straight home afterward, rather than hitting up the Student Union for Chik-fil-A, as usual.

Once home, I make a generic excuse to my Gramma regarding assignments, research, and studying, and quarantine to my room for what is left of the day.

I do my best to concentrate on my very real, not at all fabricated, homework. I have high hopes that these mundane tasks will prove cathartic and distracting enough to take my mind off Rhys and his allegations and denials. However, all I manage to do is spend six hours sitting at my desk, staring at my laptop, reliving my trauma.

By eleven-thirty, the house is quiet, and I am starving, so I decide to give up on my assignments and studying. Frustrated, I slam my laptop and spin around in my cheap office chair.

I stand up. My back and hips ache. I stretch and groan. I should have stood up and stretched throughout the evening...

As silently as possible for a nearly two-hundred-pound, five-foot-six woman walking across floating hardwood on a conventional foundation, I make my way into the kitchen.

I need to eat something.

Well, probably not, but it feels that way. My stomach growls and my head aches.

I grab a bottle of water from the case on the floor by the fridge and down it.

I read somewhere that doing that is supposed to help lessen appetite and speed up metabolism. I have been doing it since I read that, and I’ve never seen any success, though... I’ve never seen any success with any diet or exercise fad, tip, or trend I’ve tried. And that number has probably reached the three digits by now...

There is a large Tupperware bowl of leftovers stuck in the fridge, wrapped in clingwrap. I snatch it out and dig in.

Nearly half an hour later, I slog back to my room, feeling ready to burst.

I collapse on my bed and stare at the popcorn ceiling above.

‘Maybe, he really doesn’t realize what he did?’ I speculate, ‘Can someone really be that self-centered and oblivious? In his mind, does he really think we had a romantic night and I consented to... that?’

‘True evil rarely knows itself,’ the voice returns, ‘Many of the world’s most sinister minds have believed themselves benevolent...’

I AM STANDING IN WHAT appears to be corn field. It is nighttime and the stars and moon are hidden behind thick clouds that seem to press down on me with humid weight.

I cannot remember how I got here.

I turn and look both ways up and down the narrow path between rows of tall, green foliage.

Where am I? I whisper to the darkness.

"Not where, but when," the now-familiar voice riddles, the sound seeming to come from the air around me.

"Where are you? I glance around, fearfully, Erzulie?" I call out the name she had told me to call her, in my other dream... Wait... I glance down at my own hands, I’m dreaming, again, aren’t I?

"Yesss, Erzulie answers me in her disembodied voice, And, not only that, but- apparently- now, you are lucid dreaming..."

What? Lucid dreaming? I blink around in the darkness until movement by my feet catches my gaze.

I kneel and pluck the tiny snake up from the dirt.

"I’ve heard of that... that mean’s I’m in control here, right?"

"Well, she hisses, her tiny forked tongue darting in and out, That’sss a bit reductionist, but, yesss. You may travel and act of your own free will, the same as on mortal plane, but do not get too cocky; you are still but a human. And the astral realm can be quite dangerous for humans. But, fear not, my daughter, I have been and will continue to protect you, as your familiar..."

My familiar? I blink down at her, But I thought you were a Loa, a deity in Voodoo...

"Ahhh, she nearly purrs in satisfaction, I see you have been doing your research. Wonderful! You are correct. I am Erzulie, the avenging mother Loa and the embodiment of all that is the divine feminine... but there is much more to me than simply one facet of the jewel that is reality! A familiar is a protective spirit guarding a mortal witch in the form of an animal, My Sweet Nevaeh. I shall protect you, and thus you might consider me your familiar, correct?"

I shrug, thoroughly confused, "Yeah, sure, I guess. I mean, you are, like, a goddess. Who am I to tell you what you can or can’t be..."

"Precisely, She coils in my palm, almost as if she is snuggling into the warmth, And I brought you here for a reason- to this time..."

This time? I repeat, glancing around myself again, So, this is a real place? Like, this really happened- on the mortal plane or whatever you call it- just in the past?

Erzulie nods her tiny reptilian head slightly, "Yesss. Something happened this night that you must see..."

"Cryptic... Okay, so, where did this ‘something’ go down? ‘Cause, like, all I’m seeing right now is a bunch of corn..."

"Shhh, Erzulie hisses, almost comfortingly, They are coming. Hide yourself from sight, Dear Girl."

My heart pounding, I push my body into the row of corn, squeezing myself between the stalks and arranging the large leaves in front of me, so that I’m at least mostly hidden.

Everything is silent for about five breaths after I am satisfied and still. Then, like glass breaking in the night, the tinkling of girlish laughter breaks through the veil of calm.

I jump slightly before I am able to control my reflexes.

Master Ritchton! the girl cries out, playfully, her voice full of laughter, "Master Ritchton!