In this insubstantial form, I am nothing more than the infinitesimal atomos—as the Greeks call them—that we’re all made off. Nothing more than matter in its smallest form.
I aim those parts of myself through the realms in search of Marie’s essence.
Only met her the day before, fucked her one time, yet it’s a signature I could never forget.
As soon as I recognize it, I slam to a halt and find myself coming together in the Public Square. It is a mess now, a victim of utter neglect, yet I don’t spare it more than a cursory glance.
I’m across from St. Louis Cathedral.
The doors are wide open, inviting the spectators from outside. I keep myself hidden from the humans, for the moment, and analyze the scene within.
The candles are blazing, the pews mostly empty except for a few mortals here and there.
It leaves an unblocked view that leads directly to the altar.
Where Marie is standing with a dark skinned mortal man.
He must be someone of importance, despite his heritage. Why else would he be allowed to marry a slave girl in this town’s most prestigious church?
Even from afar, I can hear the priest commencing the wedding ceremony. I take in Marie, her braids hidden by a white tignon with orange stripes. The choker around her collar is also white, and the black dress she’s wearing is a little more form-fitting than what is usually worn by lower class women.
She takes my fucking breath. Same as the first time I saw her last night. A loathsome fact of my life now, yet a real one nonetheless.
And she’s about to marry that worthless man with the reputation for killing his wives.
I won’t allow it.
Driven by pure instinct alone, I storm in their direction, uncaring of the impact of my presence among so many humans.
Humans that didn’t even call for me.
But she did. Now here we are.
I clear the square and aim for the door—
The force I slam into is brutal. Unforgivable. I’m sent careening backward at the impact. I scowl at the air in front of me, trying to see what type of barrier stands between me and that church.
I see none.
There’s no possible way I imagined that. At least, I don’t think I did.
The priest’s words reach my ears. If I’m not mistaken, he’s near the end of the ceremony. Close to the part where he pronounces them man and wife.
It’s not happening.
That red-hot, furious intent sends me forward again—
I might not be able to see it, but it’s definitely there, and the second collision is worse than the first.
I clear a distance of nearly a hundred-feet, and almost crash into one of the ragged fences.
He’s about to give Marie the ring.
It shouldn’t obliterate my mind to this extent, yet it does, and in a blind panic, I flash toward the church.
Not even then can I pass through. I’m catapulted backward one last time, reforming on an almost painful rush. My feet cut into the ground as I slide back, leaving deep imprints.
For ages to come, I’ll look back on this moment, as I watched in disbelief while that man put that ring on her finger, perplexed by how much it’s affected me.
Fuck it. No need for self-pity. Their mortal union means nothing to me. I’ll take her anyway. She’s mine.
Just need to figure out what’s keeping me from her. Multiple attempts yield the same results. I try going around the church, storming from the back. The entire structure is shielded from me by a power that’s much greater than my own.
I end up in front of the church, in my original spot, forced to watch the end of that blasphemous ceremony.
A presence I know well arrives, inches from my back. He’s the one responsible. I’m convinced. Either him, or something above him with even more power than he wields.
Time to demand answers . . . but . . . but . . .
Marie looks amazing in the noon time sun as they step out of the church, her arm in his. Her skin glows in a nearly ethereal way.
I remember the taste of it, don’t think I’ll ever forget. Jaw clenched, I watch them depart. He leads her away, both surrounded by a small group of men and women from the church.
How can I care this much? Why do I?
Oh. Right. Because I let that little magical succubus suck out a piece of my soul. “If I try to follow her, it’s going to be more of the same. Isn’t it?”
Legba hums in that guarded, relaxed fashion of his. “She is fascinating.”
I know that!
Whirling around, I find him watching after her, yellow eyes narrowed, dark fingers caressing his black cane. “That creature, neophyte that she is, is a font of untapped potential. Although,” he tilts his head, braids sliding over his shoulders and shrugs as if suddenly everything makes sense to him, “She’s beginning to understand that about herself.”
“Make. Fucking. Sense,” I demand, the emptiness in my gut gnawing at me.
He smiles, unashamed of his misshapen teeth, as usual, and motions with his cane in the direction that Marie and her new husband went. “Uninitiated mambo and all, but it was she that blocked you from ever returning to her.”
Ever?
Did he just say ever? “I am a fucking god!”
“Yes. As I said, fascinating.”
“Reverse it.”
“I can not.”
“You forced me to heed her call!”
His face tightens with disdain at my outburst. “I was doing what had to be done.”
My head is going to explode. “According to whom?”
“There are forces much bigger than you, boy. Forces much bigger than me.”
“You speak of Bondye.”
“Gran Met-la,” he practically purrs, smiling. It’s the other name Bondye is sometimes called by.
Yet it’s neither a confirmation nor a denial, and I swear if I could kill him right now, I would. “She took a piece of my nanm, Papa. How do I get around this block she’s erected?” Why the hell did she do so? I’ll wrench the answer from her once I can get my hands on her once more.
“I suspect that’s for you to find out, Samedi.” He taps on my chest with his cane before departing. “I wish you the best of luck.”
Fucking bastard.
Chapter Six
Four years to the damned day.
Rain pours, a cacophony of tragic sound. Or maybe it just feels like that because of who I’m here for.
She was four.
Four. Years. Old.
Although I have yet to hear of a god in our pantheon having a child with a mortal, I can’t help but think that perhaps she could’ve been mine.
In another time; in another life.
Marie’s abilities have continued to grow. It’s begun to amass her a serious following. Money that allowed them to pay for a tomb here, in St. Louis Cemetery.
I don’t attend to the dead personally. That much hasn’t changed since I was given this role. But nothing could stop me from being here for this child.
Her child.
Marie’s.
I walk through the maze of above-ground tombs. This new cemetery is on swampy ground at the outskirts of town, but already there are dozens of crypts built for present and future generations.
This isn’t where her child is, however. They can now afford to have her here, but it’s still the child’s place, as the offspring of a freed man and woman, to be kept away from the affluent members of the city. She won’t have one of these fancy tombs.