Marie slammed a blood-soaked hand into the ground, into the sacred markings. It began to glow with a pulsing violet light.
“Open,” she whispered in the Old Tongue.
There came from the silence a dull creaking sound, the groan of an old gate being swung open.
The door to the Veil opened before Marie Laveau at last.
Darkness seeped into the sanctuary, a whisper at her ear.You’ve opened the door,Marie Laveau,it said.Now, come see who answers.
It was death. And Marie Laveau knew death well. She’d felt it all around her since she was a child. She’d glimpsed it in the eyes of chained men and women, saw it looming over those poor souls in their sickbeds drawing their final, fevered breaths, watched hopelessly as it followed her husband like a shadow when he turned to leave her one last time.
So when death came to her now, she held out her hand, greeting it like an old friend.
“No!” Jon screamed. “What have you done?”
That was when the world went white.
A blinding light flooded the sanctuary. Marie squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, a towering black door had appeared before her. Silver light glowed around the edges like moonlight had seeped into its old cracks. The door was covered in a long tattered white curtain that swayed softly. The blood drained from Marie’s face as her eyes remained fixed on that pale shroud and the glowing door behind it.The Veil.
There were voices whispering from behind it. Whispering toher.
Marie slowly rose to her feet. Jon shouted for her, but Marie could not hear him. It was as if the sound had been bled from the room except for the voices from behind the door. Marie drifted toward that strange glowing light.
Someone else was calling for her now—someone from behind the door.
Come, Marie,it said.
She’d know that voice anywhere—even after the long, lonely years she’d spent without it, she’d know it in a heartbeat. Because it was the voice of her mother.
Come back to me,her mother begged,and we can be together again.
As she drew closer, she could hear other voices too—Grand-mère, Sanite Dede. And Jacques. Her once beloved. He called to her, a caressing whisper at her ear.Joinme.
Marie could hear something else, some faint echo in the distance—someone was crying. It was her daughter. From somewhere in the cathedral, her daughter was crying for her. Marie clung to that blessed sound, anchored herself to it. Her daughter. Her reason for it all. She could not leave her. Not now—not ever. Marie stopped, reason flooding back to her. This was an illusion, another trick. The Veil had no power over her—she was the one who had summoned it; she was the one who had opened this door. And it was hers to close if she wanted.
A dark laugh sounded from behind that tattered white veil. The door opened, and a figure stepped from it, limned in silvery light. Papa Legba stood before her, glittering copper scales in hand. Lordof the Crossroads, keeper of keys, He Who Stands at the Beginning and the End.
“Marie Laveau,” Papa drawled slowly, something like a smile playing on his lips. “You would dare to open the sacred doorway to the dead?”
“I would.”
Those red eyes flashed. Not with anger, but with intrigue. “And so you have. Make your petition known to the Lord of the Crossroads. Whose soul is it that you require from me?”
What might she say? That she wanted to know what had become of her husband? That after the long, terribly lonely years, this was what she had long sought after? And here it was before her now, tauntingly real. It was said that those foolish enough to dabble in Veil magic were looking for their lost loved ones, to bring back the souls of the dead. But never had she heard of anyone offering theliving.
Marie slowly looked to Jon, unbidden tears in her eyes. “I do not seek to take a soul. I only seek toofferone before you, Papa Legba.”
Jon stared numbly, frozen with incomprehension. Marie grimaced as she watched the white veil billow softly over the cold stone. He did not yet understand. But he would.
Papa’s red eyes crinkled at the corners, pleasantly bemused. “I have long watched you, Marie Laveau. I know you to be steadfast in your retributions. Vindictive, even. But this?” His withered lips curved. “This is truly diabolical. Are you sure, priestess?”
Marie was silent. It was this…or…She shut her eyes. She could not bear the alternative. If she killed him, Jon would be no more. At least this way, she could spare herself the act, and some part of him might still liveon.
“Well…?” A dangerous edge to Papa’s voice now. The loa did not linger in the land of the living long. “Answer properly, witch.”
Finally, she brought herself to nod. “Yes.”
Marie turned to face Jon, lifting her hands. They were shaking. She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying until she tried to speak.
