BitchCraft: Covens and Tribes.

Papa Legba

Chapter Three: Papa Legba.

Marie’s words still rang clearly through Queenie’s mind, as she struggled to get up from the dusty floor of the Greenhouse.

“The spirits admire sacrifice. They pay attention. They visit, they grant. The most assured way to bring the spirits to you is to put yourself in an uncomfortable situation, Queenie. They will hear your plea, they will appear.”

Marie hadn’t been wrong. She rarely ever was. For the three weeks Queenie had spent as part of the Laveau Voodoo Tribe, the Voodoo Queen had made certain to train her in the ways of the dark arts.  Even though she would never admit it the coven, she had felt more at home with the Tribe, than she did with them. More secure. Marie ran a tight ship, her followers borderline worshipped her. To the few who had been privy into her inner circle, and knew her as Marie Leveau, l’immortel, she was practically an embodiment of the spirits themselves. They respected her, and she respected them. They protected her the best they could, and she them, which was much more than Queenie could say for the flailing white Coven.

“What was that? Are you okay? What do mean you called him? ” Zoe asks, helping Queenie up from the floor.

“Chill, Zoe, it was a simple pain affliction spell, the spirits pay attention to sacrifice.” Queenie gushed, as her heart rate to slowed down. She had learned the spell in case of an emergency, a few days ago. There were other ways to summon Legba, but they mostly revolved around drawn out rituals. She now understood what Marie had meant when she had declared her a protégé. Queenie was the best of both worlds, the white coven side of her made it easy to enchant instantly. Something the voodoo practitioners found very difficult to do. Even Marie suffered from this inability. However, because of her ancestral lineage to Tituba, she had been welcomed by the Voodoo Tribe, where the true knowledge of the craft laid. With a drawn Veve, some graveyard dust, fresh warm blood and a vase of poultice mix, ten white witches had nothing on a Mambo. That is why they had survived so long. They may not have been able to flip over buses with a flick of their fingers, or set ablaze a house by sheer will, but they had an unrivaled understanding of the supernatural, and that was more than enough to guarantee the Voodooeines a good fight against the White Witches.

 “You called me, ma petite sociere.” Legba’s words rang like thunder through the dark room, sending shivers down Zoe and Kyle’s lower backs. Queenie had summoned Papa Legba before on multiple occasions; she was used to his dramatic flairs.

“Yes, Papa Legba,” Queenie said, slightly bowing her head as a sign of respect to the African deity, “We need your help Papa.”

“We do?” Zoe said, finally catching her breathe. The longer Legba lingered in the room, the more light headed she felt. Without even realizing it, her nostrils had adjusted to the sweet smell of death surrounding them, one could even say, the young witch and her semi-human lover were comforted by its dry intensity.

“Yes, Sabrina, now shut up and let me handle this!” Kyle sensing the hostility in the room stepped forward, hands balled in a fist.

“It seems my presence is causing a little disagreement amongst les amis, perhaps you should call me when you all on the same page, no?” Papa said, his body seemingly fading into the mist that covered every surface of the room.

“No! Papa, please, hear me out.” Queenie says stepping forth, reaching for Legba, but her hands only grasped the air where his apparition had been.

“I have come to like you, ma petite sociere, don’t make me change my mind.” Legba’s hot breathe against the bare skin of her neck. Even his breathe smelled of funeral wreath. The proximity of his lips to her skin made Queenie gasp, so much power. Queenie swiveled around, falling on her knees. She had suffered excruciating pain to call him out of hell; she was not going to let him leave without granting her wish. “What is it, child, speak!”