She remembered Delphine mentioning that she had closed her Voodoo storefront because she could no longer handle the hooligans that would come and harass her holy shop. Ophelia just assumed she meant tourists. Avery’s shop had a more modern twist to it that said, “come grab a juice, and pick up a Voodoo candle that you can show off to your friends at your next house party.” Avery’s shop wasn’t inauthentic; it was just more approachable, less assuming. Ophelia had been in Delphine’s shop once when she was a teen wandering the Quarter, and it oozed magic in a way that she was sure attracted both the curious and the prejudiced.
Just as Ophelia was about to cross the street to her home, a baby-faced cop passed in front of her.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Are there any updates on the murder?”
“No, ma’am. You’ll have to wait to hear anything on the news like everyone else.” The cop continued to walk toward the other police standing around.Great.
CHAPTER FOUR
“So are you finally ready to talk about it?” Jade asked, as Ophelia held Theo, Jade’s six-month-old son, in her arms. He smelled of sweet baby powder mixed with floral teas from Jade’s ever-growing collection.
Ophelia had enough therapy to know that the overwhelming sadness and fear she was feeling would not be made better by lying in bed all weekend. She needed to externally process it with someone, and her best friend had the most soothing and calm nature of anyone she’d ever met. She had told Jade briefly over the phone what happened and asked if she could come over and hold Theo for a little bit before they delved into it.
“Where do I even begin?” she asked Jade as she placed a sleeping Theo in his bassinet. She recounted the day’s events in detail this time, while skipping over her dream about the tiger, which now seemed like a premonition. She had never actually told Jade or Jolie about the Exodus verse and the tiger in New York. All they knew was that there was an attack. Bringing it up now would sound equally as insane as it would have been the first time. Plus, Jade was a mystic, and anything inexplicable could be attributed to the universe, a goddess, or a haunted relation trying to break through some fifth dimension to deliver a message. Ophelia wasn’t ready to hear any of that right now.
“This sounds very ritualistic. Very hateful. Poor Delphine,” Jade said in a hushed tone.
“I know.” Ophelia shook her head in disgust. “That’s the first thing I thought, too. I need to call my mom at some point and let her know so she can get a hold of Mawmaw to tell her.” Mawmaw couldn’t hear over the phone, and texting was too hard on her arthritis, so Ophelia typically communicated with Mawmaw via her mother or Aunt Susan, and for non-urgent updates, she used good old-fashioned letters. For something as important as this, Ophelia’s mom would know the best way to get a hold of her.
Ophelia’s buzzing phone interrupted their conversation. It was a group text from one of her neighbors saying the police had released details on the incident to the local newspaper. Ophelia clicked on the link in the text.
NEW ORLEANS POLICE DEPARTMENT SEARCHING FOR SERIAL KILLER TERRORIZING CITY
New Orleans, Louisiana— Delphine Dumas, 77, the former owner of renowned French Quarter Voodoo shop, Delphine’s House of Voodoo, was found dead early this Friday morning at her home in the Carrollton neighborhood.
Police have reason to believe that this is not an isolated incident, declaring the murderer a serial killer. The murder of Dumas provided a link to other homicides in New Orleans from the past six months that displayed similar patterns.
Ophelia’s heart sank, and she could feel her whole body sinking with it.
“What happened?” Jade asked as she leaned over Ophelia’s shoulder to look at her phone.
“The police are saying that whoever killed Delphine is a serial killer. The end of the article states that there are two otheropen cases that are linked to Delphine’s.” Ophelia handed Jade the phone for her to read the article herself before doubling over and cradling her face.
Ophelia greatly valued her autonomy, and she could only do that as a single woman living aloneifshe felt safe. She had felt unsafe before, and she had worked hard to get that sense of security and comfortability back when she lived in New York. She had felt secure in her home in New Orleans. Her little cottage was safe, and it was hers—until today.
How could someone tarnish the city I love?
Ophelia took pride in her hometown, and while it wasn’t perfect with evenly paved roads and a functioning government, it was still hers. It was where she was born. Where she would always come back to. Where her friends and family lived. Where her blood had survived for over five generations. Well, her ancestors had lived in Louisiana, not necessarily New Orleans, but New Orleans was an extension, a representation of the state at large. And every time something bad happened to New Orleans, a city that had been through so much, it felt like a kick in the gut just as you were trying to get up. Everyone was constantly telling her not to live there because of the crime, the roads, the hurricanes, and the list went on.
I’m not leaving.
Ophelia could hear her parents’ voices again, asking her to move to a suburb of New Orleans like them, trying to convince her with its safety and affordable housing.
No. This is my home.
New Orleans was a place that pulled in its denizens with the sensual allure of music, food, and spellbinding curiosities while pummeling them over the head with the force of Mother Nature, a lurking Sea King, and mortals’ base tendencies to be carelessly violent, messy, and destructive. Living in New Orleans meant choosing to defy common sense. It was appealing to Ophelia in ways she found difficult to express, even to herself. It was like feeling life and death at the same time, the epitome of what life had to offer, the dichotomy of a hurricane party. Assomeone who constantly sought control, she liked that New Orleans forced her into the chaos of life.
“Are you okay, Ophelia?” asked Jade. Ophelia looked up from her hands and stared at Jade’s big chocolate eyes.
“I don’t know. I’m so goddamn angry that someone would do such a thing to Delphine,” she said, letting out a heavy sigh. “And I’m also scared, too. I’ve always felt safe in my house, and now I feel as if I was stripped of that today.”
The sound of the front door opening and deep voices talking pulled her out of her thoughts. Jade’s husband, Luke, and his friend Etienne walked through the door, gym clothes drenched in sweat.
“Oh, hello, ladies,” Luke said and bent over to kiss Jade on the cheek. “I didn’t know you were stopping by,” Luke said to Ophelia with a welcoming smile.
“Just a last-minute hang.” Ophelia shrugged.
“I’d give you a hug, but I’m sweaty from beating Etienne’s ass in basketball.”
