I didn't know Mikael well. I knew of him - he was the late Tia Valeria's novitiate. One of them. The other had died with everyone else in her House, leaving him as the sole survivor. He was young like the rest of us - an infant in voodooism. He was a lengthy, skinny man; I only ever saw him dressed in white which commonly swallowed him whole. This time, however, he was in pajamas close to the color of his skin - a light brown. Caramel, I suppose. His eyes were tired and heavy but his posture was alert and rigid. His hair, short and curly, was frizzy. His mouth had a natural pout, and his nose was narrow but a bit rounded at the tip. A handsome young man Mikael was, but clearly naive and impressionable - a victim of trauma. I'm surprised he volunteered to come with us, especially since he would be face-to-face with T

** The flames, suddenly, disappeared as if they never existed. But the altar, and everything around it, was burned to ashes. I was stunned speechless; I couldn't move. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. What I had seen. Flames reaching up to the ceiling had erupted, the female spirit who spoke to me seemed to dance in them, and then suddenly, these flames were gone. ' I stared at the destroyed altar before trying to snap back into my senses. I walked over to the burned altar, noticing the matchbox. There was only one match that wasn't completely charred and beyond uses. I picked it up, but only held it. I could have tried to burn the parchments again, but the spirit would probably come back. However, there was something else in me that prevented me from burning the parchments

** The smell of rich spices and sausages filled up Miss Aza's home once she and I made the journey downstairs. The Coterie was making gumbo - a huge pot of it for everyone that sat around in the living room. The Coterie was in the kitchen when we made it downstairs, whereas everyone sat on the couch or on the floor, their clothes still dirty and tattered. All them stopped their chatter when they saw me. Everyone went quiet, plagued with questions that they didn't know how to ask. Kizzy, Esther, Imani, and Rocio sat together and stood together when their eyes landed on me. They probably assumed I was dead. They probably thought that I was a lost cause. But I wasn't. I was there, in the flesh, staring at them and waiting for one of them to say something. But none of them did. I wanted to say something - I wanted to tell them of the

** It was a theory - an outlandish theory, but a theory nonetheless. One that made sense. One that would explain a lot. We couldn't prove that Marie II was Mama's spirit guide - the one responsible for possessing her and taking over her body and will. Spirit guides - met tet, djab, whichever term - were personal. Therefore, it would be difficult for us to find out exactly who Mama's djab was unless Mama went through a head washing or lave tet. This process took days, and if done incorrectly, could result in bad luck, mental illness or even death. But with a proper lave tet, one could come into direct contact with their met tet and their identity. No one in the Coterie had ever gone through a lave tet. "Too r

I said nothing to no one about the conversation between my djab and I. In fact, I made an attempt to not even think about it; I didn't want to let it consume me. Today was of large importance, and I needed to be focused. Aza had dropped off the parchments at Doctor Ben's house for him to try and translate them. We waited in her living room for her to get back. We were all dressed in white, per usual. Some of us had to borrow Aza's clothes. "What do you think Sajida's going to say?" Esther asked me, nearly impatient to meet her again. "I don't know." My answer was purposefully short; I didn't want to give much of myself away. "I'm surprised the Coterie was so quick to trust her,"