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In fact, she had an entire language composed of sucking her teeth, humming, grunting, hitting her cane on the ground, and staring at people until they confessed sins they hadn't even committed yet.

Her cane tapped against one of the stone crypts behind me. "You know better than to speak to spirits."

Sighing, I slowly turned.

Andre’s corpse continued to speak to me from the grave. “Gabby? Gabby? How long have I been dead? Does my mama know yet?”

I gritted my teeth, knowing Aunt Delphine was watching.

She stood several feet away, small enough to be mistaken for fragile. She wasn't more than four foot ten. A floor-length black dress covered her from throat to ankle and whispered around her legs whenever she moved.

Her long gray hair had been divided into two thick braids that fell to her waist.

Rings crowded her fingers. Bracelets circled both wrists, and charms hung among them, shimmering in the moonlight whenever she shifted both hands atop her cane. Gems climbed the dark wood from its tip to its carved handle and sparkled like tiny watchful eyes.

She looked like somebody's sweet old auntie who had wandered away from an evening church service.

That was how Aunt Delphine got you.

But I only saw the Bayou Banshee, and nobody with good sense called her that to her face.

She had inherited her grandmother's house, her work, and our familial power carried through a long line of voodoo practitioners. Now, the most dangerous people in the New Orleans criminal underworld came to her for help. Murderers waited politely on her porch. Men who commanded armies gave her a wide berth when she lifted that jeweled cane.

They had all heard what her voice could do when she stopped using it merely to speak.

“Gabby, can you hear me? I’m so cold and. . .I’m seeing things. . .looks like angels hovering over me. I don’t want to go yet. . .even though. . .they look kind. . .Gabby? Gabby, please?”

I was about to speak to him.

Aunt Delphine raised her cane.

I pursed my lips.

“Gabby, those angels are grabbing me!! Where are they taking me?! I don’t want to leave just yet!! I had plans of marrying you, girl! Bring me back!!”

My eyes watered.

I looked at the outskirts of the cemetery where several of my male cousins stood on the other side of the iron gates with guns against their broad chests. One watched the parked cars. Another studied the shadows between the oaks. A third paced near Delphine's black SUV as if someone might be foolish enough to ambush her at a family burial.

The sight almost made me laugh.

My cousins were always absurdly protective of Aunt Delphine. They guarded her like she was a fragile little queen instead of a woman who could drop every man on that road without disturbing a single braid.

If danger came through those gates, my cousins would probably spend more time trying to get out of her way than defending her.

Soon silence filled the space, and I just knew. . . Andre was gone.

I swallowed. “I feel bad.”

“Don’t feel bad for him. He’s with the angels, about to make the decision of if he wants to congregate with God or come on back down to Earth as a new person. Those are good choices.”

“Still. . .if he hadn’t fallen in love with me—”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s dead.”

Tears burned my eyes. I hated them. They were more from guilt than any sentiments of love. I’d kept my heart closed the whole time with him, knowing what could happen. Still, tears slipped down my cheeks.

I wanted what Black women had been quietly wanting for generations while the world told them to be grateful for less.