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“My grandson never learned what’s important in life. Family, children, someone to love.”
“Oh?”
“He works too hard. He micromanages. And now that he’s back in the States, I’m going to make sure he stays happy.”
She reaches across the table, takes my hand, and slides something into it. A small piece of paper and a tiny cloth pouch.
“What is this?” I ask.
“A simple love spell,” she says. “You are falling in love with my grandson, are you not?”
My cheeks burn. “I hardly know him.”
“Yet you flew across the country with him.”
“I know. I sort of got whisked away,” I admit. “I’m not naive. I know women should be careful. But I felt safe with him.”
A slow smile spreads across Yvette’s pretty face. “Why do you think that is?”
I can’t tell her why it is. I can’t tell her that we’re both members of the same underground club in New York City and that the members are vetted very carefully. That’s why I feel safe with Ronan. The only reason.
“I…”
“You don’t have to answer that.” She squeezes my hand. “I see it in your eyes.”
“You see what in my eyes?”
“I see my grandson’s future. I believe it lies with you, Mary. I could be wrong, but it’s unlikely. I’m almost never wrong when it concerns matters of the heart.”
I touch the pouch, let the silk caress my fingers. “Ronan told me you practice Voodoo.”
“I do. It’s my religion. I learned it from my mother, and she learned from hers. My own daughter wasn’t interested. So I guess it dies with me.”
“That’s kind of sad.”
“It is.” She looks up. Ronan is returning from the bathroom. “Put that away now. It was lovely talking to you.”
I secure the little packet she gave me in my purse before Ronan sees it.
“Mémé,” he says. “What’s going on here?”
“I’m just having a little talk with the lady. Telling her about the beignets.” Yvette rises.
“No, please sit,” Ronan says. “If you have time, that is. I’m showing Mary the city today. We’d both love to have your opinion on the best things to see in only one day. What are the must-sees?”
“You know what I’m going to tell you, Ronan. St. Louis Cemetery Number One, of course. The resting place of Marie Laveau.”
Ronan nods, letting out a low chuckle. “Of course.”
“We have some amazing cemeteries here in the city,” Yvette continues. “Some of them are aboveground cemeteries, which we call cities of the dead. St. Louis Cemetery is like that. It’s one of the oldest cemeteries in New Orleans, dating back to the eighteenth century. You can’t go right in. You have to take a guided tour.”
“Oh,” I say.
“But it just so happens that my friend Beatrix is a tour guide there, and all it will take is a phone call. I can get you in today.”
…
Yvette’s friend Beatrix is a gorgeous woman with silver hair but not a wrinkle on her smooth, dark brown complexion.
