When Lisa Dumont travels down to New Orleans to stay with her mother for the summer, she finds herself entangled in a web of century-long territorial disputes between undead and supernatural forces. Lisa soon realizes that she has become torn between the blood-loyalty to her mother, Voodoo Priestess Madam Dumont, and the intrigue she has grown towards Elder Vampire, Hezekiah Mercier - the enemy. And consequently, the heavy discord between the two factions leaves Lisa with life-changing decisions to make that could possibly alter the fate of both groups and everyone else in between.
View MoreIt has come to my attention that I am face to face with death itself. And not the faceless, quiet, passive creature whose enigma encompassed most of my rituals. No—death, this time, has a face. Several faces, rather. The faces of those I have damned long ago, vengeance ripe in their rotten minds.
I am having this letter written on my behalf by a confidant of mine, only to be passed down after the event of my soon and inevitable death. I wish to confess to my crimes, both inflicted upon the living and the dead. Many here in New Orleans have come to me seeking healing, guidance, spells, incantations, herbs to heal and herbs to harm, in addition to many other things the gift of practicing Voodoo has entrusted me to bestow faithfully upon the populace. I dedicated many years of my life before my illness to teaching the practice of Voodoo—as well as the art of conjure—to those who wished to enter the power and grace of the loa. I am known as the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, and I wish for this title to live on in other viable figures. These potential figures are aware of the current situation that awaits me. I told them not to fight the hands of fate and the presence of Papa Legba judging me for my crimes and often misuses of the sacredness of Voodoo.
Therefore, before my time ends, I shall confess to all my wrongdoings and abuses I have conjured in the name of Voodoo. In my quest for forgiveness, I confess to:
-Hexing innocents in fits of jealousy and discontentment.
-Lying about my capabilities in the practice of Voodoo and in the art of Hoodoo in exchange for compensation from the naïve and the desperate in their time of need.
-Abusing the gifts of the loa, in turn, one example stated in the first line above.
-Using Voodoo and Hoodoo interchangeably; blaspheming the Vodou gods in the name of the practice of Hoodoo, and vice versa.
-Practicing Voodoo selfishly instead of in favor of the loa.
I hope that the loa and God Almighty will have mercy on my soul; my death will be by Hezekiah's hand, I am certain, due to the horrible evil my family has done to his family. But I see the eyes of his Dread Father, Abraham- the one who bestowed upon Hezekiah the Gift of Darkness. If any of my apprentices or colleagues should find this note where I have kept it safe from the undead cult, be wary of this warning that I give:
The long years of my illness, I have been given visions by Legba. My death will cause strife and discord between our Voodoo and their
vampire cults. The visions were blurry, but strife will lead to the destruction of my sacred order, if union is not established. Our religion, our art, our craft, will be left to only a mere mythical tale shall you let them gain control.And my daughter, Marie. Should she survive the coming sacrilege, I beg that she does not become consumed by vengeance as I was. I feel those who are left will turn to her for guidance. I pray she does not lead them astray.
So, by the grace of Legba,
Baron, Damballah, Erzulie, and all other spirits merciful and powerful, do not let these undead—these Vampires—gain control. I deserve this painful death, but Voodoo does not.Should this letter be found, let it be brought to the most powerful Voodoo workers. My word must be immortalized.
Signed ,
Marie Catherine Laveau, Voodoo Queen of New Orleans.
'X'
**
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** When the day was over, I sat on my bed in my room, staring at the blank walls and listening to the insects make music outside in the night. I couldn't help but smile, and I was eager for the next day I would spend with Sajida. The entire day consisted of working on my meditative skills and reading spell books, but it made me want more. I needed more. When I was around Sajida, I saw a future for myself that I could never see when I was around the Coterie. And despite Sajida's claim that her cooking wouldn't be a daily occurrence, we ended up having gumbo for dinner; she admitted that she had begun prepping for it that morning before I woke up. I looked down at my hands as I sat on the bed. There was nothing interesting about them; they were normal hands. They were not Sajida's
** I waited in the living room of Sajida's treehouse. Sasi One had directed me to a chair once I had come up the ladder; Sajida wasn't present. "Mere will be down shortly," she said to me, her skin even more sickly looking than before and her teeth seemingly moments away from falling out due to rot and decay. "Would you like a beverage? Perhaps a cup of tea? Water?" I nodded, "Water would be nice." Sasi One smiled even wider. "Be right back!" she said, pivoting and sashaying down a hallway to the kitchen. I sat alone with my backpack on my lap, looking around at my surroundings. The treehouse wasn't as frightening to me as it was before, and neither was the bayou. The journey here felt like a normality. Maybe it was because th
I wanted to remember what it was like to be possessed by my djab, but it was an event that would not come back to me. But everyone else around me had seen what I became during my body's surrender to Marie Laveau, and they could not see me the same because of it. All of the priests and priestesses that attended the Council's party the night before were hounding the Coterie with questions about what happened to me. Word had spread that I was possessed by Marie Laveau's spirit, while other rumors consisted of me being a demon, a witch, an incarnate of a voodoo god. Regardless of the validity of these rumors, there was no denying that what everyone witnessed was an anomaly of sorts; Marie Laveau had been quiet since her death, so to now harness my body as her vessel raised a lot of questions about me. I was no longer just Madam Dumont's only daughter. People knew my name. And they w
** When I awoke, the sun had already risen. It poured into my room, filling it with warmth. I sat up but very slowly; my head was throbbing to the point of it being hard to concentrate on where I was. It took me a few moments to realize that I was in my bedroom, lying in my bed, in my mama's house. The last thing I remembered from the night prior was Abraham threatening to kill Miss Aza. With this memory, I jumped out of bed in a panic, wondering if he had succeeded and oblivious to the events that preceded his threat. I ran out of the room, through the quiet hall and downstairs, yelling her name. The longer the silence carried, the larger my fears grew, I imagined that everyone was at a service for Aza or burying her body in
I have tried with every fiber of my being to remember the rest of that night from my own account. I have gone through multiplelave tets, have spoken to my ancestors and to the loa, have channeled my djab, have convened with other mambos in an attempt to remember the events that preceded Abraham ordering Hezekiah to give Aza the Gift of Darkness, but it doesn't come to me. Some have told me it's common to black out after possession, so I have settled at that conclusion. I only remember the moment right before Marie Laveau possessed me and the moments after she abandoned my body. Everything between was told to me by others, so this account is stitched together by other witnesses; it is not my own, though I hope it will be one day. **
** For some reason, I felt like I had been waiting for this meeting with Abraham my entire life. Walking towards the balcony after the meeting was over, this feeling of forbiddance deep within me as I had snuck off while the Coterie was not looking, I felt like I was reaching the end of the race and near claiming my prize. But what prize was there to claim from him? Knowledge? Deceit? I was unsure. I wouldn't find out until I opened the balcony door in front of me. The balcony had to be reached by entering the master bedroom, which was, of course, unused and completely empty, save for a bed and a dresser, both covered with a white sheet. The room was completely dark, and the only source of light came from the moon outside shining through the balcony doors.
** Abraham's hand was cold and lifeless, like the gradual shift of the air in the room. My hand looked small in his—puny. His fingers completely enveloped mine. The music, which was still playing, was a slow and almost melancholy piano number, however, Abraham wanted to dance to it, so we did. My left hand rested on his shoulder (which wasn't an easy feat; I had to stretch a bit) and his right hand rested directly underneath my arm. We started off slow; I followed his lead. My body was stiff out of extreme nervousness. I couldn't look at him; I looked at his bowtie, which was nearly eyelevel. He knew that I was overtaken with nerves; he could sense it. Smell it. We moved slowly in our little space, the entire world, it seemed, watching.
** There were eyes on me from every corner of the room. All from different factions, and all for different reasons. Never would I think I would be at a level of such importance at a function such as this one—with vampires and witches and voodoo priestesses, all high and low in rank, but still more significant than me. However, I was more influential than I thought; I was more significant than I thought. And I was coming to terms with this newfound jump in rank. Yet it wasn't the time to bask in this new knowledge. I was here to find a different type of knowledge—from Abraham. It would be nearly impossible to find a good time to speak to Abraham and ask him what I wanted to know; there were people everywhere, and most of these people were infected with the disease that not only g
** I had locked myself in the guest bedroom with the black box as my only form of company that night. No one came to me; I was left alone, which heightened my suspicions about the truth I had brought to them. I sat on the floor, still dressed in white and covered in dirt and dried sweat. The ball gown lied on the bed, staring back at me. I thought about trying it on; I didn't need to know how it fit, since Jeffrey assured me that the dress was correct to my measurements. But I wanted to see myself in this dress. Is this how Russell Van Doren remembered me one hundred and fifty years in the past—wearing this gown when it was common attire at the time? I expected Hezekiah to knock on the window and let himself in the room, trying to explain himself and his actions; his reasoning f
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