Chapter 11
A Voodoo Queen's Lesson
In the regression, Marie Leveau teaches me about spirits and power, revealing a secret society that bridges worlds and centuries.
The air in my vision was thick, humid, heavy with the scent of damp earth and wilting flowers. I stood not in a sterile hypnotist’s office, but at the edge of a clearing in a moon-drenched Louisiana bayou. Moss hung from ancient oaks like the beards of forgotten gods, and the ground beneath my bare feet was cool, almost alive. I was no longer Amy, the seeker, the skeptic. I was someone else—a woman whose name I could not grasp, whose hands were darker, calloused, and adorned with simple silver rings.
Before me, Marie Leveau stood.
She was not the woman from the faded daguerreotypes or the whispered legends. She was flesh and blood, her skin the color of dark honey, her eyes twin pools of obsidian that held the weight of centuries. She wore a simple white dress, and around her neck hung a gris-gris bag that seemed to pulse with a heartbeat of its own. She smiled, and it was not a kind smile. It was the smile of a teacher who knows her pupil is about to be broken and remade.
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