“Your wish is my command. But, O, you’re worrying me. Are you actually okay?”
“Yeah, yep. I will be.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in twenty-ish.”
Jolie lived a little over three miles away, Uptown, and arrived on a bike. As she dismounted, Ophelia noted Jo’s familiar Jansport backpack—the same ratty purple backpack from high school. Jolie liked to remind everyone that it had a lifetime warranty.
“All right, mama’s here,” said Jolie, plopping down on the rocker next to Ophelia. She opened the backpack and pulled out an already opened bag of sour cream and cheddar Ruffles, salt and vinegar Zapp’s, and a box of Girl Scout thin mints that appeared to be thawing from the freezer.
“Tell me your problems, child,” she said, offering Ophelia a thin mint.
“You’re seriously the best. I know you know that, but you are.” Ophelia smiled and shoved a whole thin mint in her mouth. Once she swallowed, she dove headfirst into her story. She recapped it all—from the NYC attack to the Cutthroat Killer to Mawmaw to becoming a Traiteur to Mateo’s statue. It all came tumbling out of her, and Jolie surprisingly sat there without interruption.
When Ophelia had finished her story, Jolie stared out from the porch, lost in thought as she sucked cheese powder off each crusted finger.
“So you’re telling me that this motherfucker molested youtwice, tried to steal your soultwice, made a nude statue of you that he plans to showcase to all the fancy art people of New Orleans on Thursday, and he may be involved with the serial killings?”
Ophelia’s mouth thinned. “Yup. He’s a real winner.”
She tilted her head in curiosity, and a flash of understanding flitted across her face. “Aha, so you don’t need me to comfort you at all, do you?” Jolie raised her eyebrows and looked at Ophelia mischievously before laughing. “No, no, you don’t.” She stood up and started pacing.
“Oooh, girl!” Jolie yelped. “Let’s destroy the motherfucker.”
After Jolie finishedher verbal tirade on Mateo, she calmed down and asked for a gin and tonic. Ophelia went inside to make a drink for both of them, and when she returned to the porch, Jolie’s demeanor had shifted into something more somber.
“Here you go,” said Ophelia, handing the rocks glass to Jolie. “You okay?”
She took a deep breath. “Well, I guess it’s my turn to share something.”
Ophelia felt a jolt of nerves as she waited for her sister to continue.
“I’m so glad you are our family’s Traiteur, Ophelia, truly, because it means I can now share something with you.” She took a deep breath. “I also have magic.”
“You do?” exclaimed Ophelia.
“Yeah, I can turn things to stone—well, technically, solid earth matter, and don’t you dare compare me to Medusa.”
“Oh my God,” said Ophelia under her breath. Ophelia always knew Jolie was special. Jolie had this elegance about her, the way she moved like a ballerina. The juxtaposition between her physical grace and her snark reminded her of Mawmaw. She made everyone laugh and smoothed over all awkwardness because she didn’t have any. Ophelia truly wondered if Jolie had ever been embarrassed in her entire life. Jolie was so open abouteverything, and she had kept her magic a secret from her, potentially from everyone.
“How long have you had this gift?”
“Since high school. It kinda just came out of nowhere. Remember when Ireplacedall of Mr. Newman’s desk supplies with clay models?”
Ophelia recalled instantly how Mr. Newman had lost his mind when he found that all his pens, pencils, notepad, scissors, and glasses had been replaced with clay replicas. “Oh yes, I do.”
“That was the first time it happened. I just got so upset when he kept interrupting and talking down to me every time I tried to explain my writing analysis to the class. Then, when he went for lunch, I stormed into the classroom with the intention of hiding his shit in a closet or something, but when I touched the stapler, it turned to hardened clay.”
“Wow. How did you navigate the gift all on your own for all these years?”
“Poorly at first. At the beginning, it seemed to happen mainly when I was upset, so I became very afraid of myself and emotions. I tried to hide it as best as I could. I pulled my sleeves down over my hands and tried to control my anger as much as possible. But…you know how I am. So when I was a junior in high school, I drove in to New Orleans and went to your neighbor’s old Voodoo shop.”
“You went to Delphine’s?”
“I did. I don’t know if she remembered me later, but I only ever saw her once on your porch when I was stopping by, and she waved at me. Anyways, I asked her what to do, and she helped me. I figured if anyone knew about bizarre shit like turning things to stone, she would.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me it was a blessing and that I shouldn’t be ashamed or scared of my gift, but to figure out a way to use it for good. So I did. That’s when I started getting into pottery and interior design.”
