Page 71 of The Child of Rue Royale
“Oh, no,” Mother coos while I grab Aven from Rosemary’s shoulder, and Jade disappears from sight. Mother grabs napkins from the table and hands them to Rosemary.
“Nothing napkins and magic can’t fix,” she says through her disgust, patting all over her expensive coat. Mother gives me her “Get out of here” eyes.
“I’ll go get her cleaned up,” I say, turning as Jade approaches from my car, diaper bag in hand. I mouththank youas I grab it and march toward the house, my heart raging inside my chest.
I kiss Aven’s perfect head over and over, whispering, “Good job, good job,” as we make it into the house. Footsteps are behind me, but I know who it is. My sidekick, my ride-or-die.
“Let’s go,” Chantal says, and we scurry into the closest bathroom. “Fuck, holy shit!” she says as I place the changing mat on the floor, trying to change him as quickly as possible.
I place my finger to my mouth, not trusting a single room in this house. It’s probably paranoia, but I’ve learned I can never be too careful.
Chantal drops to the floor, handing me the baby wipes and diaper, our eyes full of emotion we can’t express. Truthfully, I want to grab the baby and run the hell out of here. Something so easy as changing a diaper could have destroyed everything.
Once I’ve changed him, I grab Chantal’s hands. Both our bodies flank his baby one, and we close our eyes and take a few deep breaths, the softness of each other’s hands grounding us. We open our eyes at the same time, and I say, “I love you.” She smiles, then looks to our baby.
“Who’s the best baby in the whole world?” She kisses his little cheeks then picks him up, and we head out to get this over with.
At a gathering of witches, hidden in the bayou, wine is poured by itself, platters float down the table, and the giggles of women assembling is the background music. Thankfully, Aven cries in the arms of every person but Chantal’s or mine, so holding him is no fun for anyone. He stays settled in my arms for most of the meal, then I hand him over to Chantal so I can eat, meeting Mother’s gaze often.
She’s so good at pretending, and I’m the absolute worst at it. It’s torture, trying to act like I’m so excited for the ceremony to come, for the life of raising a daughter that doesn’t exist. All I can think about is how the hell I’m going to get myself out of this mess with a son. A son I would die and kill for.
“Witches, let the ceremony begin,” Aunt Violetta announces once the food’s consumed, the wine decanters emptied. The jovial mood of the surrounding women makes me wish I could share in the celebration. Would I have been as happy as they are if Aven had been a girl? So many of the problems I have now wouldn’t exist. But I can’t live in that world, one that doesn’t exist. I’m a mother to a son, and I wouldn’t and couldn’t change it. His anatomy doesn’t mean a goddamn thing to me, but to my aunts, it could mean the end of the world. And how stupid is that?
So, inside a white gazebo, under a bow of hanging wildflowers, feathers, and crystals, I hold Aven in my arms, the long gown flowing in the wind.
We stand close: Mother, then Aunt Violetta, then me. My smile, tight and forced—Mother widens her eyes to pull me out of my reverie, and I clear my throat as Aunt Violetta speaks.
“Sisters, it is my greatest honor to gather amongst you all at the blessing ceremony of our newest True Witch.” She raises her hands to the heavens as the coven claps with an excitement that sends goosebumps down my spine. I am deceiving them all, and the thought turns my stomach.
My heart flutters as all eyes are placed upon me and my baby. Next to Aunt Violetta sits a table with the chalice that has been used for every blessing ceremony since the beginning of our rituals. Its freshly polished silver is etched with a maiden, mother, and crone wrapped around it, a reminder of a witch’s duty. The maidens become mothers who then care for the crones. A chalice used in our coven for the most significant spells, a chalice that will be mine one day, once I figure out how to tell my coven I birthed a boy. God, this is the worst idea Mother has ever talked me into. All these women will hate me, absolutely hate me when the truth comes out, and I’ll never be trusted again.
I begin to sway but lengthen my neck as I remind myself. Five minutes. Five minutes, that’s all I must endure. Five minutes, and then we can leave and I can tell my mom what a mistake this was and finally yell at her for talking me into such a ludicrous ruse.
I look at the group of women watching us, and I can only call two of them my true friends. Chantal and Jade meet my gaze while my heartpalpitates and my ears ring. Aunt Rosemary sits with a scowl, her legs crossed, her hands clasped in her lap. Her two daughters, Annabeth and Mercy, came from out of town, ladies I barely spent time with, and for that, I’m grateful because they share the same holier-than-thou looks on their faces as their mother. It hits me as I stare out amongst them, how small our coven truly is, no more than thirty women, and how much I’ve let such a minuscule group of witches dictate my life. So many leave, go and live their lives, have their children, with the plan to come back if they ever make it to being an elder. And so many die young from the reckless life of having too much power. I’ve stayed because I’m a true witch, stayed and fulfilled my duty, and what do I have to show for it?
“Sisters, we drink. The wine, like the blood that connects us. The sisterhood that ties us together until the end of time.” Raising the chalice, Violetta brings it to her lips as I nervously rock Aven back and forth. His warm body steadies me, his legs kicking with fervent enthusiasm as his eyes take in the view.
Mother comes forward, taking him from my arms as Violetta hands the chalice to me. Chantal winks as I raise the chalice to my lips, a sign of solidarity, a sign of commitment and sisterhood to my coven, and I curse myself for being disingenuous, but what was I supposed to do? Allow them to brandish me a traitor for falling in love?
I blow a ragged breath out then finally place my lips on the chalice, where Aunt Violetta’s mouth was seconds ago.
A sudden shock catapults down my spine, and my eyes slam shut with a sensation I recognize, one that swallows me up, but this time, I didn’t ask for it, this time it’s happening on its own. I’m traveling…to another place in time, like I did with Bastian in my courtyard, like I’m going to do with him in Pirate’s Alley. I’m going back in time.
I open my eyes, seeing through a set that is not my own, and I’m no longer at the blessing ceremony, no, I’m in Aunt Violetta’s parlor.
It’s dark, the embers from the fireplace emitting the only light in the room. There’s talking, but it’s unclear, like I’m listening from underwater. One second I can’t understand anything, and then it’s like I’ve burst through the water’s surface, the sounds coming in loud and clear. And I hearthatvoice.
“It’s just for protection. I’m not gonna fall dead on this here floor now, am I?” Franklin’s voice rasps.
I recognize the gloved hand of the person’s body I’m in. The same gloved hand I’ve given stacks of cash to time and time again. The same gloved hand that gave me the chalice. Aunt Violetta. Her fingers raise the chalice to the vampire sitting in front of her. Greasy long hair. Eyes evil with greed. Franklin Maltese.
“Don’t be paranoid, a deal is a deal,” Violetta’s voice says, then the eyes I’m seeing through rove to the woman standing next to Franklin, and of course…it’s Rosemary.
“That one can be trusted?” Rosemary asks, and there’s someone else in the room. But I don’t have control of where Violetta looks, I’m just a witness in her body.
“That one has dreams ’bout to come true!” Franklin shouts, “A little fire. Easy peasy.” And then he cheers, “Bottoms up!” Lifting the chalice to his lips, the same chalice that had Violetta’s lips pressed against it, the same one mine just touched.
My brain tries to commit every detail to memory, to will Violetta to look to the corner of the room where someone else is, and just as she lifts her head, the vision quakes, the room shifting, the blackness enveloping me as I try to hold on to where I am, but it all disintegrates like ashes in a breeze.
