Page 11 of Xavier

Madame Gautier, Voodoo Queen of Bayou Mambaloa, grandmother to Lissette Gautier, had waited up to make sure her granddaughter had made it home.

Lissette wished it was because the old woman still loved her wayward granddaughter, but the truth was that she’d waited up because she was responsible for her young granddaughter’s whereabouts, since she was out of prison on parole—a trial period, if she was willing to accept it.

“You shouldn’t have waited up, Mémère,” Lissette called out as she pushed through the screen door into the home she’d done her best to escape as a teen and young adult.

“Ah, mon cher, I would’ve waited up even if you did no have a curfew. I can no help but to worry.” Her grand-mère rose from the floral overstuffed sofa, hobbled crossed the wood floor and cupped Lissette’s cheek with her strong, capable hand. “Je t'aime. Always.” Her lips curled on her dark mocha face. “Sometimes I do not like you, but always dere is da love.”

Lissette leaned her cheek into her grandmother’s palm. “I love you, too, Mémère, though I haven’t always shown it. I appreciate that you’ve stood by me throughout, with a few slaps on the wrist when I needed them. I only wish I had stayed closer to you instead of falling in with the wrong crowd.”

“De past is behind,” Grand-mère’s forehead creased. She raised her hand and brushed aside the hair on Lissett’s forehead. “What is dis?”

“Nothing,” Lissette said.

Her grandmother tsked her tongue. “Dis is no nothing. Were you in a fight? You know you can no cause da trouble.”

Lissette caught her grandmother’s hand in hers. “I didn’t cause trouble.” She released the hand and sighed.

Her grandmother’s lips tightened, and she stared into her granddaughter’s eyes for a long, hard moment. Then she nodded, as if she believed her granddaughter. She took Lissette’s hand in hers. “Come. Let me tend to your injury, and you can tell dis ol’ woman what be happenin’ to de daughter of my blood.”

She led Lissette to the small table in the kitchen and then pushed her onto one of the chairs. There, she sat facing the old refrigerator with the calendar secured with magnets, a constant reminder of the dates she was to present herself to her parole officer. “You should be the one sitting, Mémère.”

“I sprained my ankle. It’s no broken.” While the old woman gathered what she needed and fussed over the cut on her forehead, Lissette told her what had happened.

“And the worst part is that they got away with my bag.”

Grand-mère covered the small gash on her forehead with a bandage and leaned back, planting her fists on her hips. “And what be so important in your bag dat makes it worth dying for?”

Lissette hesitated. This was the part she hadn’t wanted to tell.

“Come, girl,” the old woman cocked an eyebrow, “you can no keep secrets. Not from me. You say you want to be accepted by da people of Bayou Mambaloa. You can no do dat from prison.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Lissette pushed her hair back, frustrated, tired and bruised. “But I’ve been here a couple of months, and I’m still getting angry looks and cursed at from people I’ve never hurt. A woman walked into the shop today, took one look at me, scowled and then turned and left muttering something about letting murderers out of jail.” She shook her head. “I didn’t kill anyone.” Thank the goddess.

“No, but you tried to kill one of our beloved peacekeepers.”

“I don’t expect Shelby will ever forgive me for that,” Lissette said. “But the others...”

“Time heals most wounds.”

“Yeah, well, I thought if I did something to help not only our family, but the community as well, they might come around sooner.”

The old woman’s brow furrowed. “What help you plannin’ to do?”

Lissette squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Mémère,” she leaned forward, “Many of the tombs have been broken into. Reliquaries have been stolen.”

Her grandmother shook her head. “Da Gautier tomb is secure. Our family reliquary is as secure today as da day our ancestor, Séraphine Gautier, was buried dere. She is da one who created da reliquary to ward off bad juju. Each generation since has added to da reliquary spells to ward off da evil.” Her voice hardened. “Each generation except one.”

“My mother. She didn’t believe.” Lissette sighed, knowing the story from when her grandmother had told her many years before. “Grand-mère, the reliquary is not where it should be.”

“And you know dis how?” Grand-mère scowled.

“When I’d heard that some of the tombs and shrines in the cemetery had been vandalized, I went to see the truth. So many of the tombs have been desecrated, including ours.”

“It was locked,” her grandmother said.

Lissette pulled the hasp from her pocket and held it up. “They cut the padlock.

The old woman shook her head. “Who would do such a t’ing?”