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BIANCA HONORE’S FAMILY had had mixed religions for generations now. She had been named after the reigning Queen of New Orleans voodoo since 1983.
Voodoo came to New Orleans with the influx of West African slaves who escaped Haiti. Louisiana Voodoo was a mix of African and Caribbean Voudou. Christianity, more specifically Catholicism, was thrown in the religion as well. It had been a way of life for decades now, not only by the African Americans but the whites as well. Even the Hispanics practiced the voodoo religion.
Her grand-mere was a traditional high priestess here. People sought out her grand-mere secretly for various cures and specific blessings. Bianca learned the ways of voodoo and Santeria from a young age. Over the years, she became familiar with rare New Orleans original voodoo occult items along with how to make magical fetishes, small voodoo statues and good luck charms. Her specialty was Gris Gris bags and voodoo dolls.
Like her grand-mere, she was fluent in both voodoo and hoodoo. Voodoo was a religion; hoodoo was the side that dealt with hexes and such. Some around here considered those that practiced hoodoo as witches, which was ridiculous. It had been that way for over a century and there was no changing that, as much as she would like to. Her grand-mere always talked openly about the racism she grew up with coming from a voodoo family. If anything bad happened, it was blamed on the voodoo woman; she must have put a curse on you. Any hint of misfortune had people pointing fingers. Her grand-mere prayed to the gods that things would change by the time Bianca grew up, but it hadn’t. She was constantly teased about being related to the voodoo witch; children were warned that if Bianca did not like something they did she would put a hex on them. It still hurt today when she remembered how cruel people had been.
Growing up had not been pleasant. She never had friends. The other children avoided her like the plague. Throughout school, she ate her lunch alone in the cafeteria; everyone was too afraid to even sit by her. If she touched a pencil, no other student dared touch it; fearing she’d put a spell on it. Even though Bianca excelled in sports and school work, she was picked last for any team choices during physical education class or even in the school classroom. She never received invitations to parties or outings; she was treated as an outcast. She always dreamed of being invited to sleepovers, but she was always left out. The teachers never reprimanded students for being mean; they could be just as cruel, if not crueler.
When the other students made snide comments or rude noises behind her back, she swore one day she would make them regret being mean to her. At times, they were so cruel that Bianca couldn’t resist muttering to herself, spinning in circles and pointing her finger at whoever teased her ruthlessly at the time. She laughed when they ran away from her in tears and hollering that the crazy girl had put a hex on them. She added to the persona by dressing in black; lurking in the shadows and sitting in the back of the classroom until the day was over, but never once did she raise her hand in class. All through school, no one really knew what special talents she kept well hidden.
Her illusion of being a black magic practitioner was personified when the stray black cats in town followed her to and from school every day. Wherever she went, they followed. Now, contrary to popular belief, black cats brought good luck, not bad. Black cats made people jittery and scared. She found the fact that black cats were scary hilarious. They were the most loving of the cats, always wanting to be spoiled. Unfortunately, some people in town believed that the black cats were her familiars, animals that she used to do her evil bidding. It was rumored that the more familiars a person had, the nastier the bidding would be and she had at least a dozen black cats that followed her. The reason they followed her could have something to do with the fact that she carried tuna fish with her everywhere she went. After all, she needed something to feed the stray cats. They couldn’t possibly find enough food to fill their tummies on the streets.
No matter what nasty rumors these kids spread, Bianca knew their dirty little family secrets. Those same kids who were mean to her had parents who sought out her grand-mere for charms and potions. She knew when Mike Savoie’s dad was cheating on his mom because his mom came looking for a potion to make him pay for his infidelity. So when she wanted to get even, she would let it slip out at the most inopportune times.
Even her grand-mere was never invited to social functions, but when they had a child sick to his stomach or a headache that wouldn’t go away, they sought her out before old Dr. Thomas Guillory. Women sought her grand-mere out when they had matters of the heart that needed to be tended to as well. It was not unusual to hear a knock at the back door at the stroke of midnight because the person didn’t want to be seen using the front door. Bianca found it funny how when someone wanted something bad enough, they found the courage to do something that frightened them normally. It annoyed her how fickle people could be. Until they needed something, they forgot that you even existed. It was only when they needed something that they acted as if you were their best friend.
It didn’t matter to her grand-mere who they were or what they needed, as long as they paid for her services. Her grand-mere could tell from the way someone walked up to the house how desperate they were and her price increased for whatever service they needed. Yes, her grand-mere was indeed a shrewd business woman. Her grand-mere enjoyed practicing her voodoo and swore that was how she remained young. Bianca firmly believed that statement too; her grand-mere never looked a day over thirty to her. Bianca wasn’t sure of her grand-mere’s exact age, but her momma had been in her twenties when she had been born. So her grand-mere had to be close to her forties when she was born.
Bianca was a light sleeper and listened for the sound of people knocking at the back door. She would quietly get out of bed, tiptoe to her hiding spot and watch as her grand-mere performed her rituals for those people. From her hiding spot, she learned what each person desired the most. She learned at an early age that love made a person do desperate things. That desire for another individual could control every part of you. Bianca learned how to control her passions and never allowed her passions to be ruled by another.
She learned that sometimes getting what your heart desired could be very dangerous, if not deadly. Once a curse was performed; there was no taking it back. If you truly wanted that person to love you until the end of time, you better be certain that was really what you wanted.
Having a boyfriend growing up was out of the question. Most of the boys were afraid if they so much as touched her, their peckers would fall off. Bianca sometimes wondered if that had been her grand-mere’s doing more than anything else. She regularly warned Bianca to stay away from them boys; that they were after only one thing and nothing else.
The only time she felt normal was at home with her grand-mere. Bianca’s momma had better things to do than tend to a child; she wanted nothing to do with the voodoo religion that her momma practiced, and she wanted to forget about her horrid childhood. She spent most of her time in Baton Rouge, where no one knew of her momma’s family.
By the time Bianca turned eighteen, she’d had enough of this town and the small minded people here. She wanted a real life, one where she could be herself. She was ready to spread her wings and not be looked upon as a freak. Perhaps she did take after her momma in some ways. She wanted to go where no one knew her name or her family.
Now, her grand-mere was calling her back home to take over the family business. She should have argued that wasn’t the life she wanted, but she couldn’t. Lately, she’d felt New Orleans calling out to her once again. Could it be that her destiny was waiting for her back in New Orleans?
She had mixed feelings about returning home. Her family would welcome her back with loving arms and heart warming smiles, but she felt something dark and brooding was calling her back. She was unsure of what the future held for her, but she knew she must return home.
Her grand-mere had been visiting often in her dreams, insisting that Bianca return home. She could no longer put it off. It was time to go home and face whatever fate had planned for her. She should dread returning home due to her grand-mere’s declining health, but even after her grand-mere died, she would be able to talk to her.
She had a feeling there was something unfamiliar and different in store for her in the near future. This feeling should frighten her, but it didn’t. She was ready to welcome whatever new changes life had to offer her.
As she neared her home, the scenery changed and reminded her how beautiful it was in New Orleans. When she reached the long stretch of bridge that brought her home, a shiver of apprehension ran down her spine. She despised this bridge, all around her was water and nothing else, but once on the other side, she would be home. It had been almost four years since she had been back, too long. On the trip home, she’d practiced her Creole since it was rusty from lack of use in New York. To stay fluent in the language she had to use it, but there were very few people in New York who understood her dialect.
The closer she got to her grand-mere, the more her stomach churned. She wondered how much her grand-mere knew about her. Could it simply be that her grand-mere wanted her home before she passed away or did she want to pull Bianca away from the life she was making for herself in New York? Of all the family left, Bianca was the only one who had an interest in the voodoo religion. The rest wanted to forget where they came from, but not her. She wanted to embrace it. This was who she was, and she was proud of it. In New York, she’d found others who welcomed her and taught her so much.
As she turned on the street her grand-mere’s house was on, the rain came down in sheets. There were very few street lights here, making it difficult to see the now watery, darkened street. A shrieking wind blew past her and shook the car; Bianca wondered if this was an omen.
As the rain spattered hard against the windshield, she leaned in closer to the steering wheel to make out the road in front of her. She knew she was near when she saw the esoteric designs painted on the doors of the houses here. These signs were called veves, and they each had a purpose. Some called for assistance from the Loa, the gods of the Voodoo pantheon. There were also a few for Baron Samedi, the keeper of cemeteries and the protector of the dead. One house had a veve for Papa Legba, the chief Loa guide who interceded with the rest of the pantheon for favors. Yes, this was home. This was where she grew up and where she learned her love of voodoo.
This was where Bianca wanted to hone her skills of voodoo. She’d acquired a lot of knowledge in New York, but down here she would have the chance to become legendary. She wanted everyone to know that she could exact her revenge with voodoo. She dreamed of becoming a modern day Marie Laveau. She craved that notoriety and to use it to her advantage.
She pulled up to her grand-mere’s house in the early morning hours. As soon as she stepped out of the car, the humidity of the day enveloped her. At least it was still late spring, but the summer heat would be unbearable. She had loved the cooler weather in New York. She had also met others interested in voodoo in New York and learned a lot. She learned more about the black magic, more than her grand-mere would like. Bianca always had a secret fascination with the darker aspects of voodoo. Areas that her grand-mere didn’t want her to study. But Bianca’s friends in New York had opened her eyes to the experience. Perhaps that was why her grand-mere called her back home; she sensed what Bianca was doing.
From the outside, the house she grew up in didn’t look like much. It reminded her of a run down shack made out of old cypress. Once inside, you could see the love that was given to the house. Her grand-mere taught her that she shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.
This house contained her grand-mere’s most prized possessions. There were various antiques that had been passed down from generation to generation and cared for lovingly. The house was comprised of various woods from Louisiana, including the beloved cypress. There were window seats and intricate mantels all beautifully carved by her ancestors. There were dressers and tables made by hand from rosewood. There was even a special pie safe made out of a fragrant cherry wood. Even with all the knick knacks and wood in the house, you never found a hint of dust. Her grand-mere was meticulous about keeping everything spic and span. Even the wooden floors gleamed enough where she could see her reflection in the wood.
Bianca remembered how her grand-mere had kept the house dark at all times; even in the middle of the day. She had to squint to see where she was going. It helped to keep the house cool even in the hottest part of summer. By August, you would think this old house would be unbearable, but it was pleasantly comfortable. The addition of an overhead fan years ago helped to keep the air circulating in the house. Her grand-mere refused to spend money on an air conditioner, stating that if she didn’t need it growing up, then she didn’t need it now.
As soon as Bianca stepped into the kitchen a rush of memories assaulted her. The kitchen had not been updated in years. It had the same stove made of a heavy black metal that was installed in the 1920s. Plumbing and electricity didn’t come until almost a decade later. The electricity needed to be updated badly; whenever a thunderstorm hit, the lights flickered, and you could not use a microwave in the small kitchen as the breakers were unable to handle the wattage. None of that concerned her grand-mere. As long as she could practice her spells and make her potions she was happy. The house was in need of some desperate foundation repairs. Certain areas of the floor sagged when you walked. A heavier person could fall through the weak floor in certain places. Instead of bothering with repairing those spots, her grand-mere simply moved a piece of furniture to that area to prevent someone from walking there. She shook her head at the repairs that needed to be done. It wasn’t as if her grand-mere didn’t have the money; it was just that she saw it as a waste of money. Why bother with the upkeep of a house that she wouldn’t be living in much longer.