Nothing Stays Dead in the South

II

The moment I pulled open the faded red door to La Boite Magique in the French Quarter I was greeted by the smell of wax and dried herbs that drifted out on a gust of cool air from inside. I’ve only been here a handful of days, but being mid-May I can feel the shift in the temperatures outside as we drift into the summer months. Although my northern blood is having a difficult time acclimating to the southern climate, my skin seems to enjoy the additional moisture in the air.

Stepping over the threshold I’m surprised that the inside of the store isn’t what I had envisioned. In my mind, I was expecting rickety shelving and eclectic jars holding roots and dried plants. Maybe some sort of reptile eyes. That’s not what I’ve found here. The interior is rather modern, with a beautifully finished concrete floor, adorned by a stenciled snake in a warm yellow.

Most of the walls are exposed red brick, with a partition between the front and back that looks to be built in to resemble the outside of a house with french windows set in weathered wood. The odd mix of french country and industrial in the space doesn’t feel as mismatched as you would think it to be, and my white boho skirt seems to fit right in with the aesthetic.

Walking through the french doors from the back room was a striking black woman, with deep-set almond eyes and bone structure to die for. Her hair is tied up in a beautiful emerald and gold scarf offset by a dressy black jumpsuit. Her style seems to echo the mismatched nature of the store itself. Her warmth exudes from her, setting me at ease immediately.

“Jolene?” she asks with a soft smile, making her cheekbones pop.

“Wow, good guess. I’m guessing you’re Miriam?”

Instead of a verbal acknowledgment, she motions me to follow her with the toss of her head. I follow, casting a glance at the high shelves behind the counter in curiosity. “I’m good at guessing,” she shouts behind her as we cross into the backroom. “I knew your uncle. I’m sorry to hear about his passing.”

We came to a stop at a small circular table no larger than the bistro tables set up on the porch at the mansion. She motions to me to sit, and I do, hesitating only a breath first. “This is a beautiful shop. Cole told me you’re looking for a shopkeep to help a bit?”

Her eyes dance with amusement as she looks at me. “He did, did he?” pausing momentarily, she picks up a deck of tarot cards that were sitting face down on the small table and begins to shuffle them gently by placing the deck in one hand and releasing a section of cards at a time into the opposite hand until the entire deck has been redistributed and mixed. She places the deck once again face down into her palm before extending it to me. “Cut?”

I cross my legs and lean forward, cutting the deck. I’m not superstitious, which is probably obvious given how quickly and easily I moved to Louisiana, but I’ve never had my cards read before. My curiosity must show on my face because she moves to offer an explanation. “I’m just going to do a three-card reading. I’ll tell you what they all mean.” I give a quick nod in acknowledgment.

She lays three out in turn, taking a moment to explain as each hits the table. “This one is for your past, this one for your present, and this is for your future.” She rests the deck back on the table without removing her gaze from the three cards she laid before me. c*****g her head to one side she considers them a moment.

“So, do I have good fortune?” I urge with a jovial tone in my voice.

Miriam tsks softly before meeting my eyes. “Fortune is not good or bad. Fortune just is. This card shows that loss and grief have dominated your past. Likely the changes that have brought you here perhaps?” She questions only momentarily, not expecting an answer before moving forward, the next card causing me to lick my lips awkwardly. The text at the top reads, The Lovers.

“This one… this one is appropriate for a state of your life in flux. New beginnings. New relationships. You’re going to have some decisions to make regarding your future, which…” she trails off moving to the next card. The Tower, “ well, your future brings chaos, prophecy.”

I bark a laugh. “That good, huh?” I look up at Miriam and a look of regret plays on her face before she adjusts, giving me a wink.

“It’s just for fun. Don’t worry about it. When can you start?” Miriam’s eyes track everywhere but to mine as she makes about straightening the backroom. If I were a superstitious person, I might take that personally after a reading like that, but I’m a life-long atheist. It’s bad luck to be superstitious, anyway.

“I finished unpacking what little I brought with me yesterday and I’ve been bored out of my mind since I woke up this morning, so I would describe myself as completely open.”

“No hobbies?”

I clear my throat. “Art. I haven’t really had any inspiration since my…” I trail off, clearing my throat, “Since my mom died.”

She momentarily pauses her task at hand before flashing me a pained look. “I’m so sorry.”

Before I was able to elaborate further, the sound of a bell rang through the air signaling a customer coming through the entryway. As Miriam starts toward the front of the store I move to follow her when a tug in my chest startles me. It’s as though a rope anchored deep in my chest is tugging me forward. I follow.

“Mimi.” A deep baritone rings through the air with an air of authority. There’s a hint of a taunt laced into the nickname, and I can tell that it’s entirely unfriendly. Miriam beats me out of the back room and to the counter while I cautiously amble behind, catching sight of four men standing at the counter. Tension soaks the air as fear skates up my spine.

While the men are all tall, fit, and attractive - they couldn’t be more different stylistically. The man standing at the front looks down his nose at Mirium who lifts her chin defiantly.

“Good afternoon, Azreal. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

The sound of the name rings oddly in my ears, bringing a hint of familiarity while discomfort stirs in my belly.

One of the men standing further back towards the entrance advanced toward me, yielding when the man at the front, Azreal she called him, puts his arm out - signaling him to stop.

“Who are you?” Azreal purrs, his face impassive, stoic.

Calling on my smalltown roots I muster a welcoming smile. “Hi. I’m-”

“My new employee.” Miriam trains her gaze on me, lifting one eyebrow with a serious look on her face. “I’ll see you in the morning. We open at ten.”

I smile tightly with a brusque nod and make for the door.

“Wait!” the baritone fills the air once again, stopping me in my tracks. I shake off a shiver, turning back toward the crowd of men in the store.

“I asked you a question,” Azrael said as he stalked toward me. He’s tall enough that I have to look up to meet his blue eyes. Again, a sense of familiarity settles over me.

“Do I know you?“

His face is unreadable and held firmly. “You first. Who are you?

“I’m, uh, Jolene. Jo.” My manners win out as I stretch my hand towards him for a handshake. He flits his glare from my face momentarily to my hand but makes no move to take it. Instead, he steps closer, crowding my space as I instinctively take a step back.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, turning his head and smiling back at Miriam. “Jolene, huh?” It’s the first time I’ve seen his face do anything resembling an expression. He turns back to me pushing his hands into the pockets of his black slacks. “Been in town long, Jo?”

I lick my lips but can’t mask the surprise on my face. “No, actually. Just got in a few days ago. How did you know I was new in town?”

“Lucky guess,” he husks at me. “Nice to meet you, Jo. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”

Dismissed, I took my first opportunity to exit the terse exchange, ignoring the pull in my chest telling me to turn around and go back.