“Remember,” Alida whispers.
“What?”
A hand on my shoulder makes me jump in the water.
“You back with us?” my mother asks.
I open my eyes and see her worried expression.
“There she is,” Mémé says.
“What just happened?” I mumble.
“You drifted off for a while.”
“I was somewhere else with Alida.”
“She may be one of your spirit guides,” Mémé chirps. “Come on, pruney, it’s time to get you out.”
Mom and Fel help me out and wrap me in a homespun cotton towel. Once I’m dry, they drape a white cotton nightgown over my shoulder. It falls to the ground, and I experience a moment of déjà vu. Remember. Raven, digging … A ghost tree. I pull the memory from the haze and tuck it away for later.
“You’ll continue to drift in and out for the rest of the evening. There will always be one of us with you to keep you grounded,” Mémé says.
They help me over to a white tent pitched up with wooden poles. Cristobal followed the rules without skimping on comfort. I chuckle as I’m helped into the bed raised on a wooden platform. This is glamping at its best. A fire crackles outside, and a small mountain of comforters are pulled back, so I can climb in.
“Sleep. You’ll need all your strength tomorrow.” My mother kisses me on the forehead, and I struggle to keep my eyes open as the others bid me farewell. Weariness wins, and I close my eyes, returning to the in-between space where half dreams wait.
Faces, voices, and time-periods blur together as the ancestors speak to me throughout the night. I wake feeling like I’ve been trapped in a fever dream. I push the comforters off my body. We’ve been wrong. The ancestors admire tradition, but they’re hungry for change and also worried about our lineage. These are messages to ponder after the next two days have commenced. Every matriarch faces their challenges. I think mine will be revitalization.
The curtain is swept back.
“You’re already awake?” my mother says.
“I dreamt all night long. It was strange.” I brush my hair away from my face.
“Bad?”
“No, nothing like that, just odd. I spoke with a lot of our ancestors.”
“That’s good. Means the bonding has begun and it’s strong.” Mémé follows in behind Mom.
“Do you still see them, Mémé?”
“Occasionally. It’s never been so vivid as it was the night before my coronation.”
“That’s good. I don’t think I’d ever really get a good night’s rest again if this was my new normal.”
“It was so vivid?” Mémé asks.
“As clear as we are right now.”
Her eyes widen.
“Is that bad thing?”
“No, I think you will be exactly what this family needs.” Her eyes water. “We should go, time moves swiftly, and we have to prepare you for the sunrise. Traditionally coronations were performed at the start of the new day to symbolize a fresh beginning. Modernized, they tend to take place in the evening, but not mine. I’m going old school. That means adhering to the original customs. Making bigoted bastards get out of their bed at an unusual hour is merely a bonus.”
The dense area is crowded. Witches stand among the trees, in the trees, and along the walkway that’s been cleared leading up to the massive oak tree where the exchange of power will be made. Dressed in various stages of finery, they’re all barefoot in accordance with tradition. It’s supposed to keep us all grounded by earth and in tune with one another.