their faces bold and full of character, peer out at me. Some seem calm while others have wild black eyes. I wonder what their specialties might have been.
“Papa Ute could possess different bodies,” Mariska says as if reading my mind. She steps up beside me and lifts a framed black and white photo of a very dark man. His nostrils are flared, and his expression is so fierce, he reminds me of an angry bull.
Today her hair is wrapped in a high bun with a navy scarf around her head. She’s wearing loop earrings, a brown cami, and a lace skirt. With her cat-eyes, she’s every bit the gypsy granddaughter of one of the most powerful voodoo queens in New Orleans.
“Was he a relative of yours?” We walk slowly down the hall, looking at these mementoes of the past.
“He was married to Auntie Celeste, Yaya’s sister, for a while. Then he went on.”
I’m not sure if she means he died or he moved to another town. It could very well be either.
“Demeter taught you to read palms and tea leaves,” I say, looking at the wall of rosaries. “Are you hiding any other special powers?”
“Gifts, you mean?” Her full lips part over straight white teeth as she smiles. “I have prophetic dreams.”
My eyebrows rise. “Anything about me?”
“Sorry,” she does a little frown. “My dreams so far have only been about me.”
We’re at the back screen door. She pushes it, holding it open as I pass through.
“Selfish girl,” I tease.
“It’s really more frustrating than anything.” She’s right behind me, letting it go with a slam. “I can never figure out what they mean until they’ve already come true.”
The backyard is enchanting. A covered patio is lined with hanging pots overflowing with flowers. A fountain is engulfed at the side of the house in a cluster of white oleander. A large ceiling fan keeps the air moving, while a few steps down, wisteria grows over an arbor. Along the fence, herbs grow wild in beds.
“This is incredible!” My voice is hushed with surprise.
“Yeah,” she smiles, tilting her head to the side. “Everything out here can be used in some way.”
I stop at a thick green vine hanging upside-down from a beam and lift a plump, red tomato. “Even in the kitchen?”
She laughs, “That one’s ready!” She reaches out a smooth, tanned arm full of bracelets and picks it.
“Tell me what everything is!” I say, following her out into the yard.
“Most of it’s pretty basic stuff.” She stops at a hairy looking green plant and twirls a stem in her fingers. “Mugwort is great for prophecy and dreaming.”
“Is that one your favorite?”
“No, my favorite is the lavender.” We walk down a few paces to the tall, woody stems covered in hazy greyish-purple pods. “I love how it smells. It brings calmness and peace.” She pinches off a sprig and sniffs it. “It can even be used for love potions.”
“What are these, daisies?” I’m standing in front of a bunch of happy white flowers with little yellow hearts.
“Here.” She breaks one off and tucks it behind my ear. “Chamomile is very versatile. Wear it in your hair to attract a lover or keep it in your pocket for good luck.”
“I know this one,” I say, bending down to touch a small green plant. “Pennyroyal makes you rich.”
She shakes her head, pointing down the way. “Rosemary will protect you, and sage will summon your spirit guide.”
A breeze sweeps through the vast garden, and I watch the fronds on a weeping willow sway like hair. Live oak trees spread their heavy branches over the back of the yard, just before the tree line becomes dense.
“You have a lot of herbs for protection here,” I note.
“Yaya has worked with a lot of troubled people.”
“That’s one way to put it.” I snap off a stem of round yellow flowers. “It makes me feel safe somehow, being here.”
She doesn’t answer, and we walk a little farther, our feet swishing in the long grass. “Have you ever mixed any of these into potions?”
“Not really,” she says. “I do little things like the vial I gave you, but I’m still in college. Yaya says the only magic I need to worry about is happening between my ears.”
“What’s your degree?”
“Fine Arts.” A bluebird flits down, stopping at the small wooden box high on a metal post. It’s such a small, vibrant thing. We watch it until it flies away. A black and white cat sits very still tracking its movements.
“Their house was