TELL ME THE TRUTH

Chapter One

Tell Me The Truth - Chapter One 

Jeanne Saunier - 2013

"Ooph," I muttered under my breath as I dropped the heavy box on the shelf.

What was in that thing? It probably weighed as much as me.

Okay; maybe not as much as me, but it was heavy as all get out.

"Need help, Jeanne?" I heard my father call out to me.

"No. I got it now, Papa."

I heard footsteps approach and I turned to see my father, Pierre Saunier, looking at me closely. His dark eyes held worry and his brows were drawn together. As Papa looked me over, he ran a hand through his curly black hair.

"I never should have let you carry that heavy box, Jeanne." His voice was tinged with the Haitian accent he'd picked up from his own papa, the same accent I was sure I shared.

"It's fine, Papa. I'm seventeen. I think I can handle a heavy box."

Papa smiled and chuckled lightly before leaving the room. I took a deep breath and began unpacking the box. Jar after jar and Ziploc bag after Ziploc bag. There were all kinds of herbs and roots and powders. Little jars. Big jars. Little bags. Big bags.

I sighed as I placed the last jar of Black Gum root on the shelf. I folded down the empty box and put it under the shelving. My nose itched from the scent of all the herbs and spices as I stepped into the back room of the shop.

My father was labeling jars and bags, making sure each was sealed tight. I glanced around at the plain wall and wood floor, each square foot clean. The counter with empty jars and bags was impeccable with no dust or leftover powders, herbs, or roots. The shelves were cleaned and the jars were lined with the labels easily readable. The only part of the room that wasn't perfectly clean and organized was Papa's desk.

Papa's worn wooden desk was cluttered, with papers and ledgers everywhere. His precise handwriting was on everything and his glasses were balanced precariously on the corner.

This was the room where the most expensive and most potent things were kept. Mostly the most potent. Papa didn't want some amateur to get his hands on the wrong herb, root, or powder and make a disastrous spell.

Sometimes I wondered why he was so concerned. If someone wanted to get his hands on that stuff, they'd find a way. Especially if he was a Bokor interested in black magic. According to Papa, it wouldn't be too hard to design a spell with catastrophic results.

Like the spell he claimed must've caused Hurricane Katrina when I was a little girl.

I didn't really buy into that, but a lot of houngans - voodoo priests - like Papa did. It made sense when they gave their reasoning, but I didn't like to believe that one houngan or mambo could cause something so tragic. That was a lot to take in. It was a scary thought. Who really wants to believe that a single person could cause so much pain, death, and suffering?

"You get it taken care of, Jeanne?" Papa asked quietly as he wrote.

"Yep. Everything is in its place. And I went ahead and closed up since I figure you won't be out of here for a while."

"Thank you, Jeanne. I probably wouldn't have thought to close up."

I smiled and chuckled. "That's why I went ahead and did it, Papa. Do you need any help back here?"

"I got it, ma cherie."

I nodded and leaned against the counter, bored. I didn't really have a lot to do since I didn't have a lot of friends. I was pretty much a loner; I just didn't talk to a lot of people. I never really understood why, but people just unnerved me. I had one close friend, Francesca, but no one else really took the time to get to know me. Most people thought I was a freak or some other such nonsense, and so they never even made an effort.