Henri - a boko of blackness, a spirit with nothing but bloody betrayal on his hands, wanted me to call him Henri. A simple name - too simple for a boko. I immediately assumed he was lying. The name; however, was a perfect match for the old boney white body he’d slipped into. A man who was lying dead on the parlor floor the past two days seemed to have magically sprung back to life - with an entirely new personality and outlook. He was, shall we say, much more morbid and sardonic nowadays.
Phoning the police and feeding them our story was a lot easier than I’d have guessed- then again, I shouldn’t be too surprised since such mere fucking fools ran this place. White men in ill-fitting blue suits with laughable little medals that held no true power tutted about Bourbon Street like they knew some life-altering secret. There was no secret, no magic in what they pretended to represent. They were miniaturized empty-headed zombies who’d already been taken over by a master called “the government”. They were so blinded by this government’s power-plays that they could literally see a man shot to death on the streets by a fellow officer and they would bow down to them as a hero. Never a murderer- even if their victim was found innocent- still a supreme sack of shit to be honored and commemorated. They were in for a treat if they followed a leader that would support this type of behavior. These asses had never met the likes of me or real black magic before, but they were about to. And soon they’d be answering to my commands.
The officers that arrived at our home were taken by me, mystified by my ornate beauty and alluring embellishments. I am a Goddamn Goddess of youthful seduction all on my own but I would be stealing something from Oshun if I don’t share a victory lap with the Priestess - the one I was channeling through my cinnamon scented body oils and warm golden feathers placed carefully throughout my lavish updo. Men couldn’t stave off desire with the promise of warmth they felt enveloping their genitals by merely just breathing in Oshun’s essence. With housing the seductress of sin, I can clearly see how well I am going to acclimate here in New Orleans. I will be irresistible. Unstoppable. A Mambo Majesty. Their Master and Owner. The name Adya Amant will be in every history book around the world no matter the language, the religion, the color of their skin - I will reign Queen. I will draw them to me- building my soldiers and henchmen to protect me from the predicted minority tribe that will refuse me. The tribe that dies.
My lashes batted wildly as we shared the tale of my dear landlord’s and my travels together and our heartbreaking discovery of his dead wife upon our return. Not one pig even thought to ask where Henri and I had traveled together and why. Not one thought to ask what the nature of our relationship was… I am new to this tribe and even I might think it strange to hear a young, attractive female frolicking about with a not-so-wealthy balding bone-bag that had no direct relation to her. But no… their heads were monopolized by the steely glimmer in my eyes and tightly wound bodice.
After they left, I carefully shut and bolted the door behind them. My hand drove down into the self-made pockets of my ensemble and grabbed a chunk of hair strands from it. I had stolen a few threads from each one of the numskull’s heads without them even noticing I had been standing behind them, let alone my sharp fingernails tweezing at their scalps like a barber plucking stray hairs from their backs.
Holding them tightly in the palm of my left hand, I headed upstairs to the trunk that sits locked and camouflaged on my attic floor. Opening it with my right, I lifted the lid and lying fatefully on top were the poppets I knew would be there. I had been a busy little girl during my years as an invisible home invader. There had to be over one hundred hand-sewn tiny silhouetted dolls lying in wait for their moment to be called on. Today I need three - one for each of the simpering bastards that came to write their report and take the corpse back to their masterful “government”. I would need to keep tabs on them and snuff out any hint of disloyalty. Carefully setting the hair wads on my skirted dress, I lift the longest needle I could find and threaded it on the first try. My hands must keep up with all that my head has planned if I am to make it out on my debut appearance that evening.
But first things first.
I need to build my primary three soldiers. My needle plunges in and out of the sturdy sailcloth, weaving each man’s hair into its own poppet. I sing a little charm while I sew, commanding the bokos to bless the dolls with the deepest blackness of their soulless voids. Tonight these pocket babies will join me on the ventures out - I have a feeling I will be running into some of my newly acquired servants.
Two hours have passed and I am leaving out into the early sundown of fall. Innately I know where to go -I let my feet do the traveling for me so that I don’t get lost trying to redirect myself based off my brain’s business. The flitter of my black heeled boots kick the bottom of my garment out like crow’s wings flapping up to their post to witness the evil about to incur. A smile creeps across my lips- I have always had an affinity for the murderous crows and ravens. The screams that used to linger in the night sky in Haiti resound inside me now - as if they had followed their red beating hearts to find me in this new world of chaotic deceit. They will only help my mission as I join them in my army of messengers.
My feet abruptly stop outside a pair of heavy wooden and probably ancient doors. My eyes glide upwards to find the name of my first stop - “Victor’s Venoms”. An old-fashioned gin-mill, not surprising. Taking another step forward, I felt my arms reach out and grab the handles to open the mammoth slabs. Accepting my fate that was yet to play out inside the saloon, I hurled my body through them, letting my eyes readjust to the dimly lit sconces along the walls and the almost blinding pendant lights hanging above the bar. When my eyes were ready to see all they needed to, they turned themselves on their sides to glimpse a derelict huddled in a corner booth.
The homeless are always desperate and will do just about anything for close to nothing.
“I am gonna need two gin and tonics there, cutie,” I say, throwing myself only a little at the bartender. He doesn’t seem to mind; he shares probably one of his well-versed winks my way and answers with a quick, Sure, doll - whatever you want. Oh, if he only knew what I wanted- he wouldn’t be so forthright with his offerings. But who am I to put words in his mouth? Perhaps he doesn’t much care for the promise of eternal life and would easily trade his soul for my kiss of death. A woman can only hope. The bartender slides my drinks down the rail to me and tells me these are on the house. Thank you, Oshun for the free drinks and sexy winks. I twirl myself around and start towards my next man to vanquish - he’s right where I left him. Then again, where the hell else would he have to go? Back into the chilly wind-whipping nightfall to sleep without meeting me first? Not likely.
“You look like you could use a drink, young squire. What do you say?” I lean in haughtily.
“I’d say what the hell did you just call me? What century are you from, lady?”
The man’s eyes were cold and empty. Perfect. He was ready and waiting for someone to take him over. An ideal non-applicant for the job. I lean in closer to grab a few stray hairs that’d embedded into the collar of his worn wool coat. These will come in handy very soon I think.
Need more Voodoo definitions? Check out this link for some vocab: https://www.authormelanieblack.com/blog/voodoovocab