The smell of rich spices and sausages filled up Miss Aza's home once she and I made the journey downstairs. The Coterie was making gumbo - a huge pot of it for everyone that sat around in the living room. The Coterie was in the kitchen when we made it downstairs, whereas everyone sat on the couch or on the floor, their clothes still dirty and tattered. All them stopped their chatter when they saw me. Everyone went quiet, plagued with questions that they didn't know how to ask.
Kizzy, Esther, Imani, and Rocio sat together and stood together when their eyes landed on me. They probably assumed I was dead. They probably thought that I was a lost cause. But I wasn't. I was there, in the flesh, staring at them and waiting for one of them to say something. But none of them did. I wanted to say something - I wanted to tell them of the
** I spent one minute and sixteen seconds looking at them. Aza and Hezekiah. I spent one minute and sixteen seconds looking at Aza and Hezekiah, back and forth, deep into their eyes, carving out the bridges of their noses, the curvature of their ample lips, and the creases of their brows. I stared at the features they shared until they were one - until I was able to believe that Miss Aza Okoye and Hezekiah Mercier were related. Well, it was actually Camile Mercier. That was Miss Aza's legal name - Camile Aza Mercier-Okoye. And from that, she went by Miss Aza Okoye. Aza and Hezekiah didn't say anything as I looked at them. They knew that I was still in disbelief. In shock. Hezekiah crossed his arms over his chest and wait
** It was a theory - an outlandish theory, but a theory nonetheless. One that made sense. One that would explain a lot. We couldn't prove that Marie II was Mama's spirit guide - the one responsible for possessing her and taking over her body and will. Spirit guides - met tet, djab, whichever term - were personal. Therefore, it would be difficult for us to find out exactly who Mama's djab was unless Mama went through a head washing orlave tet.This process took days, and if done incorrectly, could result in bad luck, mental illness or even death. But with a proper lave tet, one could come into direct contact with their met tet and their identity. No one in the Coterie had ever gone through a lave tet. "Too r
** I struggled with sleep for the rest of the night. I was a fool to believe that sleep would be easily achievable after what happened between Hezekiah and I in the kitchen. I laid awake in the darkness, my body tense next to Esther's on the blow-up mattress. Hezekiah had left into the night then, but his presence still loomed over me; his influence still lingered. I felt like he was still inside me; I felt his lips on mine. The taste of them. I heard the sounds of his moaning, and I saw his eyes, so bright and fluorescent like hellfire, but dark in intention and motive. All of my senses were overtaken by him completely no matter how hard I fought against them. It was just sex,I assured myself - a meaningless encounter between two bodies that meant nothing beyond
I said nothing to no one about the conversation between my djab and I. In fact, I made an attempt to not even think about it; I didn't want to let it consume me. Today was of large importance, and I needed to be focused. Aza had dropped off the parchments at Doctor Ben's house for him to try and translate them. We waited in her living room for her to get back. We were all dressed in white, per usual. Some of us had to borrow Aza's clothes. "What do you think Sajida's going to say?" Esther asked me, nearly impatient to meet her again. "I don't know." My answer was purposefully short; I didn't want to give much of myself away. "I'm surprised the Coterie was so quick to trust her,"
Doctor Ben was dead. It made sense to believe it - there was no possible way in my mind that he could have been alive. There was blood - so much blood. Enough to make someone wonder how it was humanly possible for us to possess that much blood in our veins. Aza's scream of sheer terror carried until she was at Ben's side. Her hands trembled over him and hung over the gushing wound on his neck. I felt, suddenly, like I was about to collapse. Ringing had replaced any sound coming into my ears, and everything began to spin around me. Sajida and Mama ran into Ben's office while I stood by the door frame, hanging onto the wall for support. I couldn't go in. I wouldn't and I couldn't. I looked on from afar, Mama, Sajida and Aza sitting on the floor next to Ben's unconscious body, his
** Tempus Summatum -drifter of time. One who can manipulate time. One who glides on the sands of time. When I had come back into consciousness, Aza explained to me - to us - what tempus summatum was; Sajida had left right when I passed out. Silently, like a cold, bitter wind pushing through. "It's a form of black magic," Aza said. "It's the type of magic that most witches don't go near, 'cause not only is it dark, but it can be deadly. To force your body to bend to the will of space and time, manipulating it to your benefit, is an act against nature. Against the universe. Against thegods. The concept of time is just forward, with the past having already happened, the events set in stone. We can't be jumping forward or falling backward in it
** I had seen more blood that night than I had wished to. It stained my dress, Ben's blood. And now my hands were stained by my own blood. It became almost a normality to have it so close, and this scared me. I stared down at my hands and watched the red liquid drip onto floor like a leaky faucet. "Come on." Aza helped me to my feet. "Let's get you cleaned up." "No." Mama's voice was dry and emotionless. "I'll clean her up. You go check on Ben." Aza looked at Mama without moving from my side. I wanted to say no to her suggestion because I didn't trust her. Or rather, I didn't trust the spirit guide that accompanied mama; Mama was acting as if the words that came out of her m
Once I finished reading the letter, I knew immediately what it meant. "I deeply enjoy you in the color red." One might wonder how Russel Van Doren could know what I looked like in red. But once I put the pieces together, the theory proved itself as more concrete: Russell Van Doren, the leader of the Council, knew me from the past. The sweat from my palms began to seep through the parchment, making it damp. I stared at the words over and over again, rereading the letter, memorizing Russell's penmanship. I did this until Mama came into the kitchen and snatched the letter from my hand. I didn't try and take it back from her; I stared at the ground, deep in thought. I couldn't move from my post. My mind began making up these images - of Russell, of me, of the past. I imagined Ru