As the evening wound down and the conversation was drawing to a close, I felt the atmosphere shift within the club. An aura of darkness crept in, hovering at the edge of the room, pulsing against my temples. I shivered, uncomfortable at the onslaught of the energy.
It took me a moment to figure out why. Arlo was still maintaining the polite conversation around how climate change had impacted New Orleans through various heat waves.
But his conversation faded into the background as I frantically searched for the person responsible for the shift in energy. There. Sitting across the room was a beautiful caramel coloured woman. Her black tresses wound down to her waist, her slim-fitting gold dress accentuated her figure beautifully. Apart from her radiating beauty, she seemed to glow with Magick, I could almost see it pulse beneath her skin.
Of course, to the untrained eye, many would chalk it up to a mixture of contouring, regular visits to the beauty salon, and perhaps a well-balanced diet. But I knew the signs of a person radiating Magick when I saw them.
Newly arrived, her dark gaze held mine captive from across the room as she refused to shy away from our unwavering connection, for Magick almost always sought out other Magick, it's why covens were so powerful.
Even from this distance I could sense that she was strong. Waves of dark energy rolled off of her, filling the shadows with sensual promise doused in darkness. Voodoo. My mind whispered, reminding me that I had tasted and played with this Magick before, and while I wasn’t an expert, I could usually hold my own.
But nothing about this situation was normal - I couldn't even chalk it up to the usual run-of-the-mill client problems. I almost wished for Marge in New York and her marital and extramarital problems. That was child's-play compared to what I was dealing with here.
My body thrummed in anticipation, my Magick begging for release to counter the threat. Because she was a threat. She wasn't here on friendly terms, her Magick thrashed across the room screaming foe with every lingering glance.
My throat bobbed as I mentally sorted through my options, reminding myself to thank Charl for our thorough education. Voodoo was a closed practice Magick - which meant that we could not practice it unless we ourselves had the same lineage, or bloodline, as those who practiced it religiously, or alternatively, unless someone with that lineage invited us to practice with them - thus giving us permission to touch their ancestral craft. Charl had found our very own Voodoo Priestess and inducted her into the Tarot Club so quickly that I wasn’t even sure if she knew what she was actually agreeing to.
Weathering the onslaught of her Magick, I suddenly understood why Zoey didn't want to spend too much time with her family. If this is what a Voodoo Priestess felt like, I wouldn't want to hang around either. Her power was nausea-inducing.
Zoey had taken the time to teach each of us the basics, allowing us to work our way further into the Hoodoo religion. As with all things Magick, we each chose our own path based on what we were drawn to. Some pursued the practice until they were Priestesses in their own right, while others within the Club were content to learn the basics and re-direct their attention towards practices that excited them. I had pursued it until I was as adept as any who were born into the practice, but didn’t overly pursue it. Which meant that I was exactly average when comparing myself against others.
And even though Zoey herself had been born into it, she tended to shy away from its darkness, choosing instead to throw herself into Green Magick and Intention Oils.
We hunched around Zoey as she explained how Blood Magick worked and the need for something physical enhanced any Voodoo doll or poppy for that matter.
"My grandma made one for my mother's boss," she explained, her eyes fixed on her forefinger, where she pricked the tip, pushing it together to squeeze out small droplets of blood.
I watched in fascination as she squeezed the droplets onto the mirror below. It wasn't clean and beautiful, instead it smeared across the mirror, making it appear grimy instead.
Her gaze flicked up to meet ours.
"Your turn," She grinned.
One by one, we each pricked the tips of our fingers, our blood mingling on the surface of the mirror. Some blood flowed brighter than others. Max's finger didn't seem to stop flowing. Brenna had to prick her finger three times before only the slightest drop rolled out of her, as if her Magick recoiled at the very idea of being associated with Voodoo. But she did it anyway - we all did.
When each of us had added a drop to the mirror, the mixture looked more like mud, coating the mirror, reflecting all the ugliness and volatility of this world.
I somehow expected more - I expected our blood to be absorbed into the mirror itself or something equally cool. Instead, Zoey uttered a few words, crushed some oregano and garlic over the mirror, the energy built up around us, tangenting here and there. It rubbed up against my ankles and I shivered at the foreign feeling. Marie gasped in shock. And then Zoey raised a small hammer and shattered the mirror in one deft crack. A shadow rolled through the room and after a moment, the air felt lighter.
Despite it all, we knew that we were irrevocably changed. Voodoo had welcomed us, and we had opened up ourselves to the practice through blood.
The woman across the room was magnetic by nature. She was strong and beautiful, and if I didn’t feel like we were on opposing teams, I may even have stopped to admire her a little more.
When a Witch saw another Witch in public, we usually acknowledged each other with some level of civility. But there was nothing civil about her.
Seated beside her was a bald man who was currently engaged in a stare-down with Dimitri.
Sweat gleamed off of his smooth scalp, evident under the heat of the lighting above. He wasn’t at all worthy of a woman like her, which meant that money was clearly a drawing card, and something to be considered.
Whilst we were locked in our glaring contest, the Voodoo Priestess pulled her lips back and grinned at me. There was nothing beautiful about her smile. It was feral, and vicious. A challenge of war if I had ever seen one. Had I not been on the receiving end, I may have delighted in its pure viciousness.
The urge to fight. To win. To conquer - rose up within me. My competitive nature demanding to be let loose - free. It was normally tapered down by my insecurities, neatly woven and packaged in acting in a socially acceptable manner where I was so worried about misstepping that there really wasn’t ever a moment to compete.
But today I welcomed it as I allowed my Magick to surge towards the surface. I held her gaze and swirled my wine around my tongue, the explosion of taste was only heightened due to my Magick flowing freely.
I held her gaze, feeling the tartness of the wine as I swallowed and smiled right back at her.
This wasn't one of those polite smiles my mother had me practice time and again, and it wasn't the frivolous flirtatious smile I sometimes gave men. No, this smile equaled hers in ferocity. There was nothing kind about this smile, rather it was a baring of teeth. It was the wolf refusing to back down to a challenger.