The Antichrist has fallen for the swamp witch, causing a myriad of problems in both the realms of spirit and form. Will they come to a solution?
My first story in about 2 years, I was heavily inspired by the Greek myth of Persephone and Hades to wri...
Queenie was extremely conflicted now that she revealed her plan out of anger to Michael through her scrying into the underworld. If she were to go down there in what would now be two days, at the rise of the full moon, then Michael will have known she was there anyways. It was not like her to skip dinner, the biggest meal of the day at the academy. She was nervous. What if I don't make it back, she thought to herself, I need to do this for Cordelia and not be such a big baby. I need to get Misty out of there before she marries Satan.
She had an idea, one she had not thought of in years. Technically being part of the Voodoo mysteries, she had access to a plethora of deities and spirits the Salem descendants could only dream of. Papa Legba, the keeper of souls in the underworld and ruler of the crossroads, was one she met the first time attempting Descensum by herself in her room. Would he know something about this whole dilemma? Could he be the key to helping her stop this demonic union with the white witch her coven loved so much?
She waited until the rest of the school went to bed, Cordelia included, before she summoned forth the loa in the privacy of the greenhouse. She had a candle lit in each of the four directions, nine by nine feet across in a circle. She managed to get a hold of the shawl Misty prized so much; it was a gift from Stevie Nicks, given to her before her tests of the Seven Wonders years before. With a piece of white chalk, she drew his vévé symbol on the floor and chanted an invocation, setting out a silver tray with three lines of high-quality cocaine.
"Je vous en voc Papa Legba...
Ecoutez-moi mon loa, Papa Legba..."
She repeated the chant under her breath until she felt a cold, dead hand rubbing her shoulder. It startled her, but she knew he had arrived. It was perhaps twenty minutes worth of chanting that brought his attention to her ritual space, and with his booming Caribbean accent, it confirmed his presence.
"Bonsoir, ma cherie," he said. "It's been a long, long time... what calls me to you tonight, my child?"
"Legba! You're here!" Queenie said with a smile, turning around and seeing him circle to sit down with her in her space. His skin was blacker than the ace of spades, with skull-like white makeup, a top hat rimmed with skull-shaped beads, a black cloak with feathers, a distinct amulet piece composed of teeth and glass beads, suit pants, and nice leather shoes. To top off his signature look, he was carrying a cane with a cobra on the top of it, symbolizing the Damballah of the tradition. Queenie's eyes met his, they glowed crimson-orange at her as she offered the silver plate of cocaine lines to him.
"I got this earlier today. Don't tell Cordelia I took a bit from her wallet to pay for it," she said with a giggle. "It wasn't cheap."
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He took some of the cocaine under one of his long, black fingernails, managing to collect a whole line to take up to his nose to snort. He shivered with delight, knowing that her offering was sufficient and authentic.
