The Witches on BellaRow Street

14. Pass It To The Left...

I am my ancestors; deeply rooted, complex, and magical.
*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ

"Run! Let's run," Junie slithers her fingers near the corners of her blunt, tucking in the weed particles trying to escape. That 'something,' she got out of the bag was her secret stash of marijuana.

In one tight roll, she ignites the fire coursing through her veins, then roams her hand back and forth until it's dry and ready to smoke. Meet Junie's other coping mechanism, and I can tell she loves using her fire magic as she takes in a puff. "Let's go, before we get caught."

Junie's ready to leave New Orleans. I'm not, and neither is Faylayee for apparent reasons like her wedding. And it's hard to tell what Aunt BeeBee wants, but I believe it's to stop worrying all damn the time. However, it's been twenty minutes, and she still hasn't come out of the kitchen, leaving Junie, Faylayee, and I to come up with suggestions about our next move.

We're still shocked at the breaking news, but at least we're trying.

The story is developing, and I'm sure, new evidence will show up, but as long as the NIWP doesn't get involved, we may have a fighting chance.

However, there's still one more problem—the Photo-stalker. Whoever took photos of us knows where we live and what we've done. And although, Junie believes the photos isn't enough proof, the rest of us begs to differ.

"If we run, we'll look guilty! Why must I keep saying this?" Faylayee fans away from the smoke, coughing from second-hand contact. "And what about my wedding? What about Mister Purr? Where is he? I'm worried."

That's right, our cat is still missing. I wonder if the person who broke into our home took Mister Purr? My stomach twists at the thought, but our cat is highly intelligent, so I doubt that happened.

Junie takes another drag of her blunt, blowing it overhead. She leans back, unbothered, and laughing at Faylayee's ridiculous questions. "Fay, stop. Just stop pretending like you want to be married."

Had it been a regular day, we'd laugh at Junie's comment, since we all know Faylayee's in denial.

"But I do," Faylayee gives off the strangest look.

"And I now pronounce you a liar... You may take this blunt." Junie stretches out her hands towards Faylayee but quickly pulls back. "Wait, the last time we smoke, you saw unicorns in the backyard." She inhales one more time, letting the weed ease her mind. "And you're not wasting my good shit."

Faylayee snorts. "But I did see unicorns..."

Unicorns? I think we've reached a severe case of insomnia. We should be aligning our stories, thinking of a masterplan, checking on Aunt BeeBee, but no, we're talking about unicorns.

Junie signals for me to take the blunt—I don't. I like to feel my problems, to me, that's the ultimate high, being sober, and knowing exactly what's going on at all times. Instead, I glance at my cellphone, hoping Zion called me back. He hasn't. His silence feels like a punishment for hanging up.

Or maybe he's still in shock.

If I call him back, I'll only delay the inevitable, and right now, everything is uncertain. I don't know what my sisters and I are doing. We're wasting time, and I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs. Maybe I should get high to calm down.

Junie inhales, releasing a stream of smoke, then pulls it back in through her nose and exhales slowly. "What if we go to the hospital and..." Her voice falters, clearing it. "You know... take care of business."