Page 84 of A Love Song for Ricki Wilde

Ms. Della pulled off her red-framed glasses and set them on the table. Gingerly, she rubbed her eyes. “I’ve heard enough. All this dark magic and sorcery is not of the Lord. You both are welcome to stay, but I’m going to take a nap.”

Naaz, who’d been listening at the door, skipped into the room and stood behind Ms. Della, helping her out of the chair.

Crushed by guilt, Ricki ran over to Ms. Della and clasped her delicate, thin-skinned hands in hers. The last thing she ever wanted to do was upset her grandmother. She knew that in a certain light, the whole thing looked like another one of her catastrophic flights of fancy. Another example of her being just “too much.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ricki apologized, on the edge of tears. “You know I wouldn’t tell you all of this if it wasn’t true. And I understand if you need some time.”

Ms. Della disentangled her hands from Ricki’s. “I love you like you’re my own. But let’s end the conversation here. And know this: the villain depends on who’s telling the story.”

Then Naaz carefully led Ms. Della from the room. And Ricki plopped back down on her chair, resting her head on the table.

“I believe you, don’t worry.” Tuesday nibbled on a Catfish Finger. “I won’t let you die. Even if I have to lock you in a closet or something.”

“I will never forgive myself for hurting Ms. Della,” mumbled Ricki. “I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me, either.Fuck.” She raised her head off the table. “Sorry.”

“Are you really apologizing for saying ‘fuck’?”

“Oh. That’s Ezra. He doesn’t like to curse in front of me. He’sso gallant, in an old-fashioned way. He says ‘malarkey’ and ‘spectacles.’” She shrugged and smiled softly. “It’s cute.”

Tuesday’s eyes widened, and a slow grin split her face. “Girl. Youliiiikehim.”

“Stop.”

“You do. It’s all over you. You’re like a character in that series you’re always reading. Those supernatural erotic stories.”

“Speaking of, I should go. I have a ticket to Eva Mercy’s book reading at Sister’s Uptown Bookstore. It starts in an hour, and my entire future may depend on it.”

“No shade, babe, but if this is your last week on Earth, you’re choosing to prioritize a book reading?”

“It’s not just any reading, Tuesday. She’s a voodoo expert. I’m going to ask her how to reverse the curse.”

Breathe, Ricki, she thought to herself.This could be it, the thing that saves me and Ezra.

“Here’s the thing,” explained Ricki. “Eva Mercy has Louisiana Creole heritage, like Felice. She writes theCursedbooks I’m always reading. Anyway, she’s been researching her ancestors down on the bayou and has become an expert on folk magic. She just wrote a fascinating piece in theNew Yorkerabout hoodoo, voodoo, and the intersection of African religious traditions and Catholicism in the New World, et cetera, et cetera. Did you read it?”

“No, now that I’m a writer, I don’t have time to do anything but procrastinate, masturbate, and cry.”

“Well, she’s knowledgeable. If anyone knows how to save me and Ezra, it’ll be her.”

“Godspeed,” said Tuesday. “And Ricki? Be careful.”

An hour later, Ricki was sitting in a crowded space at Sister’s Uptown, an intimate Washington Heights bookstore with a bright purple awning you could spot blocks away. The twenty-year-oldshop smelled of fresh paper, coconut oil, and positive community vibes. Ricki knew she was in a room full ofCursedstans, because half the audience was wearing purple witch hats in honor of the series protagonist, Gia, a badass witch.

Why didn’t I bring my hat from Atlanta?Ricki thought.Out here looking like a fake fan.

But, alas, she had bigger problems than a hat. After only five months in New York City, Ricki had done a brilliant job of ruining her life on every fucking level. Except professionally—though pretty soon, that wouldn’t matter, either. Nothing would.

She’d made it just in time, thank God. Tonight wasn’t just aboutCursed; Eva Mercy was also speaking about her folk magic research and upcoming memoir. Eva was as cute and relatable as she seemed on Instagram. With her horn-rimmed glasses, DMX concert tee, and Adidas, her vibe was “your best friend’s cool big sister.” And since Ricki recognized her from Insta, she knew that Eva’s teenage daughter, Audre, was sitting in the front row, chewing gum with boredom. She looked like a Disney princess, but festival.

Ricki sat in the audience, listening, trying to forget that she was a dead woman walking. And that she was deeply entangled with a man she couldn’t have. And that she’d possibly ruined her relationship with Ms. Della, one of the most important people in her life. And, because it bore repeating, that she was a dead woman walking.

Eva Mercy was her last hope.

“As we know, so many religions are patriarchal, because men were the ones making the rules, right?” Eva was almost at the end of her reading, standing at a wooden podium in the front of the room, spitting straight facts. “But voodoo was very female centered. Enslaved West Africans and Haitian revolutionaries originally brought voodoo to Louisiana, which was then infused withthe dominant religion, Catholicism. It was a powerful alternative to European-based Christianity.

“But voodoo was so much more than a religion, honestly. It was special because at a time when whites controlled everything, voodoo was exclusively ours. White people didn’t understand it. So it gave Black people a sense of power and protection.”

She grinned and held up a Black Power fist, to delighted applause. A room full of bookish women in purple witch hats raised their fists in the air. Ricki got chills. Despite her desperate situation, she felt like a member of the most powerful coven on Earth.

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