"You ready?" he asked softly, voice lower than usual, like he was scared to startle me. I nodded once. Didn't trust my mouth. The sting came fast. Sharp. Clean. I sucked in a breath through my teeth and let it out slow, eyes locked on my reflection like if I looked away I'd fall apart. He rubbed the spot right after, gentle, apologetic, like he could run away everything that came with it.
"You good?" he asked.
"I'm good," I said.
He went on talking like he always did when his mind was heavy, like the words had to keep moving or they'd turn into something worse. "Still don't sit right with me," he said, tossing the used needle into the sharp’s container. "That nigga really had us thinkin' he was gon' send a drop. A million dollars ready. Just sittin' there." I swallowed. He'd told me this already, twice. This was the third time, but I let him talk. Because it wasn't about the story. It was about the fear underneath it.
"He ain't never send no location," Noles continued, pacing now, running his hand over his head. "Just vanished. Two days now. Like he enjoyin' this shit." I could hear therestraint in his voice. The way he was holding himself together by force alone. I brushed my hair up into a bun, fingers shaking slightly as I worked the elastic around it. My eyes met his in the mirror.
"What about their mama's people?" I asked quietly. "Not her, but her people." He stopped pacing. I kept going before he could interrupt me. "She came from somewhere, Noles. Power like that don't just appear outta nowhere. It gets passed down. Through blood. Through land. Through the bayou." My voice softened. "We all inherit something', whether we want it or not." He studied me like he was trying to decide whether to take me seriously or protect me from my own thoughts. "I don't know," he said finally. "I'll mention it to Juste."
I watch as his eyes dropped to the box on the counter. "You know you almost outta these shots, right?" My stomach tightened. "Mmhm," I said, too quick. "Pharmacy here got a shortage. I might have to drive to Texas to pick up more." I didn't look at him when I said it. Because I already knew the response. He sighed hard. "Not the time to be talkin' 'bout road trips," he snapped, irritation flaring. "I know that Noles," I said, turning just enough to catch his eyes in the mirror. "That's why I haven't brought it up."
He opened his mouth to say something else, but his phone rang. Saved by the vibration. He answered, pacing again, lowering his voice as he stepped out the bathroom. "See if you can get it sent to another parish," he said into the phone, glancing back at me. "We'll go get it." He disappeared down the hall.
I stood there alone.
I slid my ring back onto my finger, the diamond catching the light, flashing too bright for how heavy my chest felt.
I loved him. God knew I loved him. But love didn't stop fear from creeping in. Didn't stop the quiet voice in my head from whispering.
What if all this trying is just prolonging the heartbreak?
What if my body still says no?
What if the curse don't care how many needles I injected?
I pressed my palm flat against my lower stomach. Please, I prayed silently. Please don't let me be the thing that breaks us, Sa ka kasé mwen.That breaks me.
Noles came back in, phone still to his ear. "Love you," he said quickly once he hung up, kissing me on the lips like he always did before leaving. "See you later." The door closed behind him, soft but final, like punctuation on a sentence I wasn't done with.
I stood there for a moment longer than necessary, breathing in the space he left behind. His scent lingered. I sprayed myself with perfume out of habit, wrists, neck, behind my ears. I checked myself once more in the mirror. Hair neat. Face calm, Eyes not so much. I grabbed my purse anyway and walked out before my body could talk me out of it.
The drive to Madame Laurent's house took fifteen minutes, but my mind ran miles ahead of me the entire way. When I pulled up, her front door was open, like she'd known I was coming before I did. The house sat quiet beneath the trees, the bayou breathing slow behind it. When I stepped inside, Iheard her voice on the phone low, sharp Creole cutting through the stillness. I didn't interrupt.
I moved to the front room and sat, hands folded in my lap. That's when I noticed Her altar. It was full. Madame Laurent's altar stayed clean and intentional, only what was necessary, only what was called for. But tonight it looked busy. Heavy. Like something had been summoned and hadn't left yet. I stood slowly and approached.
Three small wooden coffins sat near the center, hand-crafted, smooth edges darkened with oil. Beside them lay the makings of three stick-figure dolls, bound with twine so tight it cut into the wood. Hair was wrapped around each one in precise loops, like a prayer said too many times. My stomach flipped. "On govi? " Dolls ? I murmured under my breath.
Things were serious. That was a body without breath, made to hold somebody's shadow. Once a name is sewn into it, the spirits know exactly who to find. It held a shadow. A scent. A path. So when the spirits went looking, they don't miss. I knew these were intentional because she had hand carved these and the details let me know it wasn't something that was done overnight.
She told me once, long ago, that I didn't inherit that gift. That my sight was different. That I'd never understand the full language of dolls, and that knowing less was mercy. Still curiosity tugged at me. I leaned closer. Something small was engraved into each figure. Names, maybe. Symbols. I reached my hand out, but Pain cracked sharp across my knuckles. "Don't touch my altar." Madame Laurent's voice cut clean through the room as she slapped my hand back to my side. Her eyes were dark, serious, offended in the way only elders could be. "I don't touch yours, do I?" she said quickly. "Ba mwen respè."Giveme respect.Shame flushed hot up my neck."I'm sorry," I said quickly, lowering my eyes. "I forgot myself."
"That's when trouble finds you," she replied. "When you forget yourself." She turned, lifted a cup from the counter, and slid it toward me. "Drink." The tea was still steaming. I wrapped my hands around the cup and drank when she nodded, letting the heat travel down into my chest. She watched me for a long moment, eyes sharp but not unkind, like she was weighing something I couldn't see yet.
"When you finish," she said finally, voice low, "come braid my hair." It wasn't a request. It was permission. I nodded and lifted the cup, finishing the last of the tea even though the bitterness lingered on my tongue. It sat heavy in my stomach, warming me all the way down, like it was settling into places prayer alone couldn't reach.
Before I followed her, my eyes drifted back to the altar one last time.
The coffins.
The dolls.
The intention.
Whatever Madame Laurent was working on wasn't finished, but when it was it'd be clear as day.
I stepped into the living room where she'd already settled into her chair, back straight, posture regal. The comb and the jar of grease sat waiting on the table beside her. I stood behind her, hands steadying themselves before I touched her head. Her hair was thick. Coarse in places. Soft in others. An inheritance all on its own.
