Chrono Nexus – Rivière du Temps
Copyright © 2024, by Paul Kelemencky
Published by ZenInBlack Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Revision 202401124
Chapter 5: The Voodoo Moon’s Promise
By midday on Mardi Gras, the Voodoo Lounge had become a refuge for locals escaping the tourist-saturated madness of Bourbon Street and CBD. Nestled near the edge of the French Quarter across from Armstrong Park, on the corner of Rampart and Orleans, it attracted stragglers and regulars alike.
Inside, bodies pressed together beneath the low ceiling in the long, narrow confines of the bar—the hum of conversations mixed with steady bursts of laughter. Goth and tattooed bartenders poured drinks and slid shot glasses down the ancient wood bar, calling out to familiar faces by name.
Outside, small clusters gathered under the shadow of the building, cigarettes flaring in brief bursts of orange as locals shared drinks and half-true stories with passing tourists. Clouds of smoke from outside twirled back into the bar through the open front window, reminding people inside of a time before smoking bans. Here, at the edge of the madness, the neighborhood regulars found their refuge in Voodoo’s familiar surroundings.
In the windowless backroom, Jack sat, his green-gold eyes glowing in the dim, incandescent light. Through the open backroom door, the shadows of passersby rolled in endless waves, their laughter mixing with the distant thrum of the big parades.
“What exactly are we dealing with?” Jack asked. “How much trouble could Jeff possibly get into in such a short time?”
Reggie sighed, rubbing his forehead. “You remember when we split at Jackson Square? We was all set to march into the Quarter with Jeff.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, butter my biscuit if Jeff didn’t disappear faster than a crawfish in a boil. One minute he’s with us, next thing we know, he’s gone.”
“Yeah, what happened?”
“That’s the thing, Jeff stumbled into somethin’ way over his head. Apparently, he started bar-hoppin’, got plastered as all get-out, went lookin’ for a restroom, and somehow ended up in a storage closet where he shouldn’t have been.”
“A storage closet? What’s the big deal? Bars are used to drunks wandering into places they shouldn’t be.”
“Now, I hear you, but this ain’t your typical Mardi Gras foolishness. There was stuff back there that the owner didn’t want anybody to see.”
“Ok, Reg, but still, I don’t get it.”
“Let’s keep this on the level; the bartender tried to stop Jeff from leavin’. Jeff went ballistic, and all hell broke loose. I walked in, lookin’ for Jeff. People were screamin’, and NOPD came in hot.”
“Oh, crap, then what?” Jack grimaced.
“The police came down hard on everyone, I got lucky ’cause I work with some of them boys. They asked if I saw anythin’. I said no, but Jeff was a friend I was tryin’ to find ’cause I thought he got lost.”
“Then?”
“Jeff’s screamin’ like a banshee; this guy’s pissed ’cause I walked into his storage closet, So one of the cops walks back there to take a look. He comes back and tells the sergeant that he sees guns and drugs. It’s a regular ol’ Pandora’s box back there.”
Jack took a deep breath, absorbing the information. “So, the police think Jeff’s involved?”
“Not sure, but it’s Mardi Gras Day—arrest everyone, sort it out later. You know how it goes. The boys try to avoid drama, but this is way beyond the usual frat boy nonsense.”
Jack sat back, his mind racing. “And the bar owner? Is he connected?”
“Don’t know,” Reggie replied, his eyes sweeping around the room. “Jeff’s in custody now, but they’re decidin’ whether to charge or let him go. Meanwhile, I’m worried others may be already lookin’ for him. And let me tell you, these ain’t the kind of folks you want knockin’ on your door.”
Jack stared grimly. “We need to get to him first. Find out what he remembers, if anything, and see if there’s a way to protect him—and ourselves.”
“I’ve got some contacts who might be able to help. We gotta play this smart, keep it on the DL.”
Jack met Reggie’s gaze, determination hardening his features. “We’ve been through worse. We’ll figure this out together.”
Reggie managed a small smile. “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Jack paused, thinking. How does all this tie together with two suspicious deaths in two different timelines?
Noticing Jack’s tense look, Reggie asks. “Where y’at, brother? You look like you’re tryin’ to solve all the world’s problems. How ’bout I grab you one of your usuals to take the edge off?”
“Yeah, but make it a double.”
As Reggie went to get drinks, a less elaborate Crazy Ray arrived, having shed his Mardi Gras Indian regalia for less flamboyant carnival attire. Ray’s wiry frame slipped past the crowd at the backroom entrance, his lean build bearing the marks of a rough life.
Ray’s boots clicked softly against the worn tile floor as he approached the table. He carried the sinewy strength of a man shaped by years of heat, hurricanes, and restless city nights, resilient and etched with stories untold.
“Hey, Jack.” Ray’s deep, gravelly voice cut through the ambient noise. Settling into the chair across from Jack, he adjusted the single feather still tucked in his lapel.
Jack caught Reggie’s eye at the bar and held up three fingers. Reggie nodded, understanding.
“Some Carnival today, ain’t it?” Ray said. “Streets are packed tighter than sardines in a tin.”
“Yeah, wilder than usual.”
“Lost track of you after the procession left the river.”
Reggie returned, balancing three drinks. “Here we go.” He settled into his chair, passing them around.
Jack took a long sip, then set his drink down. “Something happened after we split up.” Jack leaned forward, his voice competing with the noise from outside. “I was talking with Zara at the Maison when Reggie’s text came through.” He took another sip of his drink. “Then, on my way back here, that’s when I spotted them—two guys in Skull and Bones costumes.”
Ray’s fingers gripped his drink while Reggie’s posture subtly shifted to full attention.
“At first, I thought they were just more Carnival folk,” Jack continued, “but something was off. Their costumes were wrong—too new, too precise. And they moved different, like…” He gestured with his free hand, searching for the words.
Ray and Reggie focused on Jack as he described the rest of his encounter.
A bemused expression played across Ray’s features as Jack finished.
“Those ain’t true, Skull and Bones,” Ray whispered, his tone seasoned and somewhat cryptic. “More like some kind of gang, up to somethin’ shady under this Mardi Gras shine.”
“Yeah, Ray, the Peacock Lady said the same thing. Either way, they’re trouble. And I think it’s all connected.”
“The Peacock Lady!” Ray laughed. “That crazy bitch was there?”
“Yeah, so?”
Ray’s gaze was steady, reflecting years of street wisdom. “So, if she saw them, I’m damn sure she knows who they are? Listen close, Jack—what you see ain’t always what you get in this city. Keep your wits about you, and don’t let your guard down.” He pauses, adding gravitas to his words, as if proclaiming a truth learned from the spirit of the city itself. “In the shadow of the feathers, danger lurks just outta sight.”
Ray stood and leaned against the wall, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, always on the lookout for signs of trouble.
Suddenly, people began cheering as a swirling mass of color and sound burst into the backroom. Belle St. Pierre swept in with the New Orleans BabyGirls, their dynamic presence filling the room with excitement and joy. Jack’s half-sister stood out even among the other colorfully costumed BabyGirls, her dark hair adorned with glitter. Her sharp eyes, the same green-gold as Jack’s, quickly scanned the room and locked onto her brother.
“Jack!” she shouted, embracing him with festive and familial affection. Upon hugging Jack, Belle immediately sensed his tension and noticed Reggie’s and Ray’s concerned looks. Despite the festive atmosphere clinging to her frilly outfit, Belle’s demeanor shifted. Her voice, a mix of Haitian and Creole reflecting her mixed heritage, usually melodic, took on a more serious tone.
“Cher, you look like you caught a glimpse of Marie Laveau herself. What kinda voodoo magic all y’all workin’ round here?”
Jack sighed, glancing at Reggie and Ray. “It’s Jeff. He’s in a mess; We’re dealing with something that’s not right.”
“Sit. Tell me more.”
As Jack recounted the circumstances, Belle’s glamorous facade melted into the focused intensity he knew from her ER shifts. Her perfume still carried hints of the party, but her words cut straight and sharp, wielding the authority of someone who’d handled crises in both hospital corridors and the rougher wards of the Big Easy.
“Listen, if these folks are as dangerous as you say, they’re likely eyeing your place already, like hawks on a rabbit. We can’t let them catch you off guard.” Belle said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Stay at my place. It’s safer, and we can keep a low profile.”
Jack hesitated, then agreed. “Yeah, you’re right. I need to be somewhere they won’t expect.”
Belle squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Alright, bébé, shoot Zara a text. We need her at my place—it’s time to chart our course outta this swamp.”
Jack pulled out his phone and texted Zara, asking her to meet them at Belle’s. Reggie looked at Belle with a mixture of admiration and relief.
“Thanks, Belle. We need all the help we can get,” Reggie said.
Belle smiled, though her eyes remained serious. “We’re blood, cher! The St. Pierre spirit runs deep; we always look out for one another.”
Ray, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. “Listen here, I’ll keep my ear to the ground, seein’ if any whispers break the surface ‘bout these fellas. If they’re stirrin’ up trouble in New Orleans, trust me, someone somewhere’s bound to catch wind of it.
Jack smiled, grateful for the support. “Thanks, Ray.”
Jack felt relieved as they prepared to leave Voodoo Lounge. With Belle, Reggie, and Zara by his side, he knew they had a fighting chance to unravel the day’s mysteries.
“Let’s roll,” Belle said, her concern evident and her focus sharp as she glanced at Jack. “Mon grand frère, we need to get you some rest.”
Jack smiled slightly, acknowledging that Belle was right. He feared much more to come and knew he needed to recuperate.
Belle waved goodbye to her fellow BabyGirls as they rolled on, their baby-doll outfits, elbow-length gloves, and decorated parasols disappearing into the mayhem outside Voodoo. She turned to Jack, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Ready for a little detour, Mon frère?”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Detour?”
“Can’t be too careful. We’ll take the scenic route.”
Reggie agreed, “Makes sense.”
Reggie, Belle, and Jack exited the backroom and plunged into the ecstatic mob on Orleans Street, weaving through the narrow byways of the French Quarter. The Quarter pulsed with music and laughter, beads flying overhead like colorful comets. Jack’s senses were on high alert, scanning for any sign of pursuit.
Belle led them through a dizzying maze of alleyways, her steps sure and swift. Jack marveled at her ability to navigate the chaos, realizing how much of the city’s secrets she must know.
“Almost there,” Belle called over her shoulder as they emerged onto Canal Street.
The Red Lady waited like a beacon of hope. The streetcar’s windows fogged with partygoers’ breath. They squeezed aboard, finding a sliver of space near the back.
As the streetcar lurched into motion, Jack felt the day’s tension begin to uncoil. The rhythmic clang of the bell and gentle sway lulled him. His head drooped, eyelids fluttering.
Reggie, always on duty, studied each passenger to see if there was any potential suspicious behavior.
“Lean on me, bébé. Just let the spirits wrap their arms around you, and everything will be alright,” Belle whispered.
Jack surrendered to exhaustion, drifting off as the city slid by outside, a passing mosaic of light and shadow.
Belle cradled Jack as he drifted off, the faint scent of herbs and spices clinging to her. She kept a watchful eye on their surroundings as the streetcar rumbled up Canal Street.
“Mama always said the spirits would guide us,” her fingers traced the outline of her talisman.
Her mind wandered to her unconventional upbringing. She smiled, remembering her mother’s teachings.
“From swamp to university,” Belle mused quietly. “Who’d have thought?”
As they passed Tulane University, memories of her student days surfaced.
“Wasn’t easy balancing those textbooks with Voodoo chants.”
Her gaze softened as she looked at Jack sleeping on her shoulder. Their relationship had come so far.
“Rest easy, bébé, Ta p’tite sœur got you, even if I can’t wrap my head around your reality.”
She sighed contentedly, reflecting on her dual nature—nurse and Voodoo practitioner, modern woman and keeper of ancient traditions.
“Contradictions make us who we are,” she whispered, as much to herself as to the sleeping Jack.
As they neared their destination, Belle gently nudged Jack awake. “Come on, cher,” she said softly, her voice a melody of Creole and Haitian inflections. “We’re almost home. Let’s get you somewhere safe where we can figure this all out.”
She helped him to his feet, her strength surprising for her size. As they stepped off the streetcar, Belle’s eyes scanned the area one last time, her medical and mystical instincts on high alert. Whatever trouble Jeff had gotten into, whatever dangers lurked in the shadows of their beloved city, Belle was ready to face them head-on, protecting her family with all the power at her disposal.
As the group walked towards Belle’s, Reggie scanned the scene, his posture tense. “Stay sharp, folks.”
“We’re almost there,” Belle said, her voice low. “It’s just up ahead.”
Jack scanned his surroundings, the group trying to blend in with the post-Mardi Gras crowd. As they rounded the corner onto Belle’s street, he suddenly froze.
“Hold up,” he whispered, grabbing Reggie’s arm. “You see that? On the porch?”
Reggie squinted, then his eyes widened. “Damn. How’d they know to come here?”
Jack’s heart raced. “I don’t know.”
Suddenly, a voice rang out, “Hey, boo, you made it! Had me worried.”
Jack snapped back to the present moment. It was Zara! Much to his relief and surprise.
“Hey, boo! What took you guys so long?” Zara giggled, stepping out of the shadows.
“How in the name of Saint Joseph did you beat us here? The streets are mobbed.”
Zara smiled, her youthful exuberance shining through. “Got real lucky. When you texted, Butch was just getting off shift, and he lives not far from here. He’s got a sweet motorcycle—easy to get around in crowds.”
Jack couldn’t help but smile. Zara was amazingly resourceful. “And, boo, I had Butch swing me by your place,” Zara continued, holding up an overnight bag. “Figured you might want your geaux-bag.”
“Babygirl, you’re awesome,” Jack said warmly, feeling more at ease now that he had something besides his elaborate tuxedo and top hat.
The group shared a moment of camaraderie on the porch. The comfort of Belle’s bungalow was a welcome escape from Mardi Gras and the day’s events.
Reggie and Belle stepped inside, leaving Jack and Zara outside. The sounds of Mardi Gras were off in the distance. Jack took a deep breath and began recounting the day’s events after he left her at the Maison, detailing each moment with the precision of someone piecing together a puzzle.
“Amaze balls, it must have been mind-bending,” Zara said, her eyes wide with curiosity.
“Tru Dat.”
“Hey, boo,” Zara continued, glancing at her phone. “I better get back to my place. There are things I need to do to get ready for tomorrow. But I’ll text you.”
“Ok, baby girl, and thanks for getting my stuff. You have a way to get there?”
“Yeah,” Zara said with a reassuring smile. “Butch said he could take me. He’s going out that way for some rave or something in the Lower Nine. He should be here soon.”
“Ok, baby girl, text me when you get home, ok?”
“Absolutely. I’m going to walk back towards Canal to meet up with Butch.”
“Hey, be careful. ”
“Always, boo,” Zara winked, giving him a quick wave before heading off.
As Zara disappeared around the corner, Jackson lingered momentarily on the porch, soaking in the stillness around Belle’s home. The distant echoes of Mardi Gras revelry barely reached this tranquil corner of Mid-City.
With a sigh, Jack adjusted the strap of his geaux-bag and turned towards the front door. The bag was packed with essentials—his toiletries, casual clothes, a pair of relaxing sweatpants, and a sweatshirt. He gave one last look at the neighborhood around him before stepping inside.
As Jack entered Belle’s Mid-City bungalow, he was struck by how perfectly it reflected her eclectic personality and rich heritage. The Craftsman-style home’s blue facade with gold and white accents stood out even in the diverse architectural landscape of New Orleans.
Inside, the living room blended modern comforts with traditional elements. Intricately woven tapestries and local artwork adorned the walls, while a small Voodoo altar in the corner emanated a sense of spirituality. The air was filled with the aroma of herbs and spices from the kitchen, where Belle’s passion for cooking had come to life.
Jack noticed jars of spices and dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, intermingled with voodoo trinkets and modern kitchen gadgets. The space seamlessly merged Belle’s interests in healthcare, history, and her cultural roots.
Jack couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort and familiarity. That home, with its blend of tradition and modernity, had been the backdrop for many evenings spent discussing their shared heritage. In the heart of Mid-City, Belle had created a sanctuary that offered a welcome respite from the chaos of Mardi Gras and the day’s tumultuous events.
Jack entered the kitchen, greeted by laughter. “Zara had to prepare for tomorrow,” he explained briefly. “She’ll text later.“
Belle smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. “That girl always three steps ahead, eh? I just hope she takin’ care out there.”
“You and me both, but if anyone can handle themselves in this city, it’s Zara.”
Reggie chimed in, “Speaking of handling things, we need to talk strategy once you’re settled, Jack. This situation with Jeff isn’t going to resolve itself.”
Jack stood by the kitchen counter, his mind replaying the day’s events. “I still can’t wrap my head around Jeff’s situation.”
Belle paused her stirring, turning to Jack with an intent expression. “Cher, I’ve been thinking. Jeff’s run-in sounds more complicated than we realized. He vanished during Lynda’s French Quarter stroll, right? If he’s tangled up with that bar’s owner, who has connections, we might need to backtrack his steps and see who else is involved. What if we can find out more about the stash he uncovered? That could lead us to the answers we need.”
Jack nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You’re right, Belle. If we can trace Jeff’s movements from that night, we might unravel what really happened. But we need to be careful. Whoever is involved won’t take kindly to prying eyes.”
Belle offered a determined smile, her faith in their collective efforts shining through. “Exactly. We can leverage what we know about the bar scene and see if anyone’s willing to talk. The right question could crack this whole thing open.”
Reggie glanced between them, a cautious but hopeful look on his face. “Alright, then. Let’s put our heads together, figure out our next steps. But we don’t want to attract any unwanted attention. We’ll need to be smart about this. This ain’t your run-of-the-mill Mardi Gras lockup, Jack. The owner of that bar? He’s got connections that’d make a spider’s web look simple. We’re in deep water here.”
Jack sighed in agreement.
“Well, Jack, you look like you’ve been through a hurricane,” Belle teased, her eyes twinkling. “Why don’t you make yourself at home and change into something more comfortable? You can use the guest bedroom.”
Reggie glanced over, a reassuring smile crossing his face. “Yeah, man, no need to stand on ceremony here.”
“Thanks, all y’all,” Jack replied, heading to the bedroom. “I’ll be right back.”
The bungalow’s guest bedroom was a small, serene haven, its walls adorned with paintings of local scenes that captured the essence of New Orleans. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jack stared at the floor. His mind raced through the day’s events. Jeff’s predicament, the mysterious Skull and Bones figures, and his own inexplicable time shifts swirled in his thoughts. He rubbed his temples, wondering how all these pieces fit together and if he’d ever truly understand the web of time he seemed caught in.
Jack shed his tuxedo and slipped into the comforting embrace of his sweatpants and a sweatshirt. The familiar fabric felt like a balm to his weary body, soothing his tension, a momentary escape from the day’s events.
His eyes wandered around the room. A framed photo on the nightstand caught his attention—a younger Belle standing proudly in front of Tulane Medical Center. It struck him how little he knew about her life outside of their shared experiences. This realization made him appreciate even more the hospitality she was providing.
Belle’s home was more than just a place to stay; it was a sanctuary. Jack felt genuinely safe for the first time since leaving his place in Bywater early that morning. Fully aware of his unique relationship with time, he allowed himself to relax, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.
“The kitchen hummed with activity, a symphony of culinary creation. Reggie’s tall frame bent over the cutting board, his knife moving with the precision of a seasoned cop. The rhythmic chop-chop-chop of the blade against the wood formed a steady backbeat to Belle’s melodic humming. His disciplined demeanor seemed somewhat at odds with Belle’s serene, almost mystical aura.
Belle stirred the pot, her wooden spoon scraping gently against the bottom in a circular motion that seemed almost hypnotic. The aroma of sautéing onions and spices wafted through the air, a tantalizing prelude to the feast.
Reggie stood by the counter, chopping peppers with a precision that spoke to his meticulous nature. His tall frame and broad shoulders seemed slightly out of place amidst the more delicate, whimsical decor.
“Watch those peppers, Reggie,” she teased, her voice a melodic blend of affection and amusement. “I need them diced, not decimated.”
Reggie chuckled, shaking his head. “Yes, ma’am. Last thing I want is to mess up your sacred shrimp Creole.”
Belle’s eyes sparkled with humor. “It’s not sacred, just a family recipe.” She followed with a little incantation.
Reggie rolled his eyes, but his smile was fond. “Yeah, well, I’ll stick to my traditional church prayers, thank you very much. Not sure I can ever get used to all this,” he gestured vaguely to the voodoo charms and herbs, “with what I learned growing up.”
Belle’s expression softened. She walked over to him, placing a hand on his arm. “I know it’s hard for you to understand, Reggie. But Voodoo is not all about spells and potions. It’s about community, healing, and tradition. Just like your church.”
Reggie sighed, his practical nature at odds with the mystical elements of Belle’s upbringing. “I respect it, Belle. I really do. It’s just—different. But hey, I’m here, aren’t I? Helping make this magical dinner.”
Belle laughed, “Yes, you are. And I appreciate your sacrifice. And remember Reggie, the things our traditions share like John the Baptist and Saint Peter.”
Reggie held up his hands in mock surrender. “Ok, I surrender. But if I start speaking in tongues, you might want to have one of those charms ready.”
Belle shook her head, her laughter mingling with the sizzle of the pot. “You’re impossible, Reggie. Now, pass me those peppers.”
Their hands brushed as Reggie passed the peppers. A moment of silence spoke volumes about their deep, unspoken bond.
Reggie watched as Belle added them to the pot, the fragrant steam rising to envelop them both. She stirred the pot with her left hand while her right absently fingered the small gris-gris bag hanging from her neck. “You know,” he said quietly, “I’m glad I know you. Tulane, RN, everything you’ve accomplished for the community. Even if I don’t get all the voodoo stuff, I get you.”
Belle looked up, her eyes softening. “Thank you, Reggie. That means more to me than you know.”
The sound of footsteps drew their attention as Jack rejoined them in the kitchen. “Ça va, y’all,” he greeted them with a light smile.
The aroma of simmering shrimp Creole, rich with the scent of andouille sausage and seafood, brought back memories. The rhythmic sound of Belle’s wooden spoon against the pot mingled with the distant jazz drifting in from a neighbor’s open window.”
Belle turned to him with a bright idea, “The weather’s perfect tonight. Why don’t we eat in the back courtyard?”
Jack nodded in agreement while Reggie glanced out the window, noting the clear, starless sky of the new moon night, the glow of Mid-City lights casting a gentle ambiance over the evening.
Belle asked the men to take the dinner plates and silverware and set up outside. The cool evening air greeted them, the temperature hovering in the mid-60s. Jack lit the lanterns Belle had around the courtyard, their glow reflecting off the surrounding foliage, creating a cozy, inviting atmosphere.
While Reggie and Jack arranged the table, there was a knock at the front door. Belle went to answer it, surprised but pleased to see Jasmine standing there. “Jasmine!” Belle exclaimed, hugging her warmly. “Come in!”
They exchanged small talk as Belle led Jasmine to the kitchen, the aroma of the simmering meal filling the room. Moments later, Reggie and Jack returned to fetch the food. Jack’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Jasmine. Belle, noticing the reaction, quickly made introductions. “Jack, this is Jasmine, a close friend of mine.”
Jack smiled in recognition and suspicion. “We met earlier today at Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop Bar.”
Belle laughed, her eyes twinkling with delight. “What a coincidence! Two of my favorite people.”
A knowing look passed between Jasmine and Jack as Jasmine said in her deep, sensual voice, “Fancy seeing you again.”
“Yes, totally unexpected,” replied Jack.
Everyone grabbed something from the kitchen and headed to the back courtyard, the evening settling into a comfortable, convivial rhythm.
Just as Jack was about to step outside, his phone buzzed with a text from Zara. Home safely. Checked your place and made sure not to be followed to mine. Jack smiled, reassured by Zara’s vigilance, and stepped out into the inviting courtyard glow, ready to enjoy the evening meal.
First rule of Mardi Gras—Eat something. He remembered.
They savored Belle’s shrimp creole under the courtyard lanterns, the crisp evening air a refreshing counterpoint to the meal’s warmth. A thoughtful silence fell over the group as they enjoyed Belle’s excellent cooking.
Reggie broke the silence. “Belle, that was magnificent.”
“Delicious,” Jasmine concurred.
“Yes, thank you, Belle,” Jack added.
“You’re all very welcome,” Belle smiled, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
Reggie and Belle got up and cleared the table while Jasmine and Jack sat silently. Jack stared at Jasmine. What are you up to, Zenin? Is there a lesson here?
Jack remained quiet, his mind replaying the strange events of Mardi Gras Day. He knew none of them, except Jasmine, would understand the experiences he had endured.
After a short time, Reggie and Belle returned with some sweet tea and fresh fruit for dessert, a pleasant conclusion to a satisfying meal.
As they finished dessert, Belle glanced at the sky and broke the silence. “The new moon is happening shortly, mid-morning tomorrow. Jack, this could be advantageous for us in resolving Jeff’s dilemma.”
Jack took a deep breath, his eyes drifting to Jasmine. He thought how little Belle knew about the multiple dimensions at play. Jasmine, noticing his glance, gave him a wry, seductive smile, running her tongue around her lips. Jack mentally sighed, thinking, Really, Zenin?
“What dilemma, sweetness?” Jasmine enquired with an almost child-like curiosity.
Belle said, “Jack’s friend Jeff got himself arrested. Some melee in the Quarter.”
“Oh my,” Jasmine commiserated.” Sounds awful, and on Mardi Gras Day, no less.”
Jack look at Jasmine, marveling at her ability to sound sincere.
“How can I help?” Jasmine asked.
“Not sure,” Belle said, looking to Jack for guidance. “I think there is more to find out first.”
Belle continued, “But whatever we decide, we must act before the full moon, which is the day after St. Joseph’s Day.”
Jack was well aware of his sister’s deep understanding of Voodoo cycles. In Voodoo tradition, the new moon symbolizes new beginnings, and one coinciding with Mardi Gras was especially powerful and significant. The culmination of the full moon around St. Joseph’s Day promised an intense period of renewal and transformation.
Belle suggested she perform a Voodoo ceremony to guide and protect them. Jasmine’s eyes lit up with excitement, while Reggie looked skeptical. “I think I’ll head home and get some rest for tomorrow.” He excused himself.
Reggie thanked Belle again for the delicious meal and cooking lesson.
“Jack, I’ll let you know what I find about Jeff or any circumstance around the incident,” assured Reggie. “Jasmine, it was a pleasure meeting you.”
Belle and Jasmine escorted Reggie to the front door and bid him a good night.
Jack waited outside, wondering what the ceremony would reveal and what Jasmine might divulge. He knew Jasmine’s presence was no coincidence.
With Reggie gone, Belle and Jasmine gathered the necessary ceremonial items for the new moon ritual. They returned, carrying various items: tarot cards, bones, and shells for divination, and herbs like sage, rosemary, and black pepper for a protection spell.
Belle, Jack, and Jasmine sat around the courtyard table, the soft glow of the lanterns casting a gentle ambiance over the scene. Belle began setting up the altar, her movements graceful and practiced. Jack watched, fascinated as always by his sister’s spiritual side.
Belle spoke softly, her eyes sparkling. “Voodoo isn’t just about spells and potions like some people think. It’s a rich spiritual tradition that connects us to our ancestors and the natural world.”
As she arranged candles on the altar, Belle continued, “This ceremony is called a ‘Lave Tèt,’ which means ‘head washing’ in Haitian Creole. It’s a ritual cleansing and blessing, perfect for new beginnings like this new moon.”
She picked up a bundle of herbs: “This is sage, rosemary, and basil. We use these for purification and protection. Sage cleanses negative energy, rosemary strengthens our spiritual connection, and basil brings good fortune.”
Belle lit the white candle. “Each color has a meaning. White is for purification and truth. Red is for strength and protection. And this black one…” she hesitated before lighting it, “is to absorb any negative energies.”
Belle began the ceremony, her hair shimmering in the candlelight. As the scent of herbs filled the air, Belle began to hum softly. “This is a call to the Loa, the spirits we work with in Voodoo. We ask them to join us and lend their power to our ceremony.”
Jasmine drew closer, her voice hushed. “It’s beautiful, Belle. I can almost feel the energy changing.”
Belle smiled, pleased. “That’s the essence of Voodoo, honey. It’s about feeling the connections between all things—past and present, seen and unseen.”
She picked up a small bottle filled with a dark liquid. “This is holy water, blessed by a mambo—a Voodoo priestess. We’ll use it to anoint ourselves and create a protective circle.”
As Belle began to softly chant in Creole, sprinkling the water in a circle around them, Jack felt a familiar tingle at the base of his spine. He glanced at Jasmine, wondering if she felt it, too.
The air seemed to thicken, the lantern light taking on an otherworldly glow. Jack couldn’t help but marvel at the power of belief and tradition. Whether he fully understood or believed in Voodoo, he couldn’t deny the palpable shift in energy.
Belle’s voice rose, her words a mixture of Creole and English. “We call upon our ancestors, upon the Loa, to guide and protect us. In this time of new beginnings, grant us clarity and strength.”
The rhythmic chanting and fragrant smoke drew Jack deeper into the ceremony, wrapping him in a cocoon of safety and possibility. Whatever challenges lay ahead, he felt more prepared to face them, surrounded by the strength of family and tradition.
As the ceremony progressed, Belle and Jasmine created protective amulets and small charm bags filled with herbs and stones, reciting protective prayers over each one.
Jack placed a hand on Belle’s shoulder. “Thank you, Belle. For everything.”
She nodded, her gaze shifting between her brother and Jasmine. “We’re family, Jack. We protect each other. Always.”
With the final blessing of the amulets complete, Belle began the second part of the new moon ceremony. There was an air of anticipation as Belle shuffled the tarot cards under the glow of the Figural Candles she set up for the reading.
As Belle held the Tarot deck, she paused, her finger tracing the edge of top card. “Jack, bébé, we need to see how all these pieces fit. Jeff’s arrest, those Skull and Bones characters, that hidden stash—they’re all connected, aren’t they?”
Jack spoke softly. “I think so. It’s like Jeff accidentally kicked a hornets’ nest, and now we’re all feeling the sting. But I can’t shake this feeling that we’re missing something crucial.”
Leaning towards the table, Jasmine lowered her head, her words a seductive whisper. “And remember, honey, this whole mess unfolded during Mardi Gras. In New Orleans, that kind of timing’s as random as a French Quarter headache after a night of partying.”
Belle’s fingers danced over the cards, her eyes closed in concentration. Jack drew close, his chair creaking, curiosity piqued despite his skepticism. Jasmine paced behind them, her heels clicking softly on the courtyard tiles.
“The High Priestess,” Belle announced, her voice tinged with reverence as she placed the first card. She lit a candle beside it, the flame casting flickering shadows across their faces. “She speaks of hidden knowledge, Jack, of secrets we must uncover.”
Jack shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Jasmine’s knowing gaze. He stood abruptly, moving to the backyard railing. “Yes, Belle. It’s unsettling to realize I may not have really known Lynda and Jeff at all.”
Belle’s eyebrow arched as she laid down the next card. “The Wheel of Fortune crossed with The High Priestess. The challenge lies in understanding how seemingly random events are connected.”
Jack turned back, frustration evident in his tense shoulders. “There must be connections I missed. Sometimes, I feel like I’m stumbling through a maze blindfolded.”
Jasmine paused her pacing, leaning against a pillar. “That’s exactly it, isn’t it? You’re trying to make sense of something that defies conventional logic.”
Belle nodded, placing The Lovers card. As she did, a gust of wind swept across the courtyard, causing the candle flames to dance wildly. “The past. Jeff and Lynda’s relationship runs deeper than we know. Jack, they hid something from you.”
Jack’s jaw clenched. He grabbed a nearby glass, filling it with sweet tea from a pitcher. “I know, Belle. That became clear to me today. Have I been played?”
Jasmine approached, her movements fluid and purposeful. She took the glass from Jack’s hand, her fingers brushing his. “And that’s what scares you, isn’t it? The not knowing, the feeling that you’re out of your moment.”
Jack’s eyes met hers, a mix of surprise and grudging acknowledgment in his gaze. He reclaimed his seat, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe you’re right. I’m used to having answers, not more questions.” He turned and stared into Jasmine’s eyes, her demure smile, a dead giveaway of unspoken understanding.
Belle laid down the Death card above The High Priestess. The candle beside it sputtered and went out. “The future. Transformation is coming, whether we’re ready or not.”
“Transformation or destruction?” Jack questioned, his voice low. He reached for the extinguished candle, attempting to relight it.
Jasmine moved behind him, her hands resting on his shoulders. “That depends on us,” she replied firmly, a sly smile forming. “On the choices we make moving forward.”
As Belle continued the reading, Jack found himself unable to sit still. He paced and picked up objects only to set them down again, his restlessness a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil.
When Belle placed The Magician, she locked eyes with Jack, halting his movement. “This is you, brother. You have the tools to unravel this mystery, but I sense you’re holding back. Why?”
Jack’s response was barely audible as he sank back into his chair. “Because I’m afraid of what I might find. Of how it might change everything.”
Jasmine knelt beside him, her voice soft but intense. “Change ain’t always bad, sugar. Sometimes it’s necessary.”
The reading culminated with the Judgment card. Belle’s voice was solemn as she explained its meaning. She stood, gathering the cards with reverent care. “A moment of reckoning is coming. We’ll face the truth of our actions and their consequences.”
A silence fell over the group. Finally, Jack spoke, his voice filled with emotion. He rose, moving to embrace his sister. “I’ve been trying to understand what happened to Lynda, to handle this on my own. But maybe… maybe I can’t. Maybe I shouldn’t.”
Belle returned the embrace, squeezing him tight. “We’re in this together, Jack. Whatever comes, we face it as a family.”
Jasmine joined them, her usual playful demeanor replaced by earnest determination. She placed a hand on each of their shoulders, forming a circle. “Family isn’t just blood, sugar. It’s who stands by you when the world goes crazy. Count me in.”
As the candles flickered, casting shadows across the courtyard, the three shared a moment of silent understanding. The cards had revealed more than just the future; they had exposed the fears, hopes, and unspoken bonds that tied them together in this unfolding mystery.
Belle looked up, her eyes reflecting the glow of the lanterns. “The divination reveals a path forward but is fraught with challenges. We must remain vigilant and united.”
Jasmine nodded in agreement, her gaze meeting Jack’s with a knowing look. She reiterated Belle’s assessment, “The new moon marks the beginning of our journey, but we must resolve everything by the full moon.”
It was almost midnight when the ceremony concluded with a solemn silence; each of them took a protective amulet. The journey ahead promised to be as intense. Jasmine thanked Belle for the wonderful meal, bid good night, and told Belle she would be in touch.
Jack and Belle sat in silence.
“Jack, you need some rest. Get to bed. I’ll finish cleaning up,” Belle smiled. “I have tomorrow off.”
Jack stood and kissed Belle on the forehead, “Thanks, bébé sœur. We’ll talk in the morning.”