The Witches on BellaRow Street

1. Absolutely No Magic!

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"Is he dead?"

It's officially Mardi Gras weekend in New Orleans, or as the locals call it, Nawlins. I'm supposed to be enjoying deep-fried beignets, collecting colorful beads, and dancing the night away with my on-again, off-again boyfriend, Zion. But fate, in its twisted sense of humor, has other plans. Instead, here I am, standing in the shadowy corner of an alley, staring down at a lifeless body with my sisters.

Yes, that's right—dead.

One by one, my three sisters lean in, their faces pale and their eyes wide with shock. The motionless figure on the ground seems unreal, like it doesn't belong in our world. The air feels colder now, biting at my skin as we all silently take in the scene. I notice how their gazes linger on the body's twisted posture, each of them trying to make sense of what we're seeing without speaking it aloud. The faint smell of damp concrete and something metallic lingers in the air, making the moment feel even heavier.

"Yep, I think he's dead..." Junie mutters, her voice trembling as if she's trying to convince herself it's not true. Her hands nervously tug at the hem of her tight red dress, a hopeless attempt to shield herself from the biting winter air. Her words hang in the air like frost, cold and unshakable, as we all silently acknowledge the truth she's daring to say.

"What?! No! You—No, no, no, no!" Faylayee bursts out, her panicked voice cutting through the silence like a siren. Her denial rings loud in the quiet alley, and I can see her trembling hands reach up to adjust her crooked, glittering Bride-To-Be tiara. The tiny crystals catch the weak glow of the streetlight, creating a mesmerizing sparkle that feels completely out of place against the grim backdrop. It's like her tiara is mocking us, reminding us how far we've fallen from what was supposed to be a night of celebration.

"Shit," Aunt BeeBee mutters under her breath, her voice low and steady but carrying a weight that makes my spine tingle. Her gold dress, elegant and untouchable earlier, now feels like a cruel contrast to the scene before us. It gleams faintly in the dim light, a reminder of how out of control this situation has become. Her curse is simple, but it says everything we're all thinking—this is bad, and we're in deep.

The man lying before us remains nameless. We're too scared to say his name out loud, worried his spirit might follow us if we say it. But as I look at his lifeless body, some details jump out even in the dim light. His pitch-black hair mimics the night sky above, and his pale skin has an eerie translucent look similar to the broken streetlight lamp illuminating the dim and dirty alleyway we find ourselves in. He seems to match the loneliness of this dark, dirty alley, like he belongs to it.

This isn't like any other lifeless body I've seen before. There's something strange about it, like dark magic—Zetish magic, to be exact. The body is contorted in an unnatural pose, as if someone went inside his body and twisted his spine, leaving him to suffer. Honestly, I can't help but feel like he deserved it. I know I shouldn't think that way, but seeing the blood dripping from his mouth turns my stomach. I would have fainted if it weren't for my younger sister losing control of her emotions.

"Is he dead-dead?! Oh my god! Oh. My. God!" Faylayee's frantic exclamations pierce the tense atmosphere, filled with a mix of shock and distress.

"Look, we all need to calm down and think," BeeBee intervenes, attempting to add some form of calmness despite the chaos.

Yes, we must think. Let's think about how four witches, including myself, ended up in this run-down alley, entangled in a series of unfortunate events. Even as I reflect on the positive actions I've taken in my life, the thought of my karma lingers on my mind. Is she ready to collect our debts, to unleash her revenge on us?