House of the Angels

Sybilla knew that she had to be careful when performing the spell that conjured the avenging spirits sent by Heaven to destroy all evil. One wrong move and the whole thing would come right back around and get her in the worst possible ways.

In one corner of Sybilla’s study, Kyle drummed out a rhythm on an old conga drum, slow and steady like the bayou itself. Sybilla had always said he had a good ear for music and a talent for the drums.

As Kyle kept playing, humming a deep, slow tune from the depths of his throat, Sybilla set to wok preparing for the spell to be cast. On the floor she drew out intricate veves with lines of salt and cornmeal. In the center of it all was a statue of St. Michael, the most powerful and commanding of all angels. In its small ceramic hand he held the spear and shield he carried into battle while beneath his feet he trampled the devil, crushing it to death.

Michael was revered and feared by all who lived within the house since he was the most powerful of all angels in heaven. Alex, one of the many residents of Angel Manor, was even rumored to be a descendant of Michael, noted for his bravery and courage. Sybilla chose to cast her spell in his favor, knowing the warrior angel could very well not refuse.

“Are you sure this will work?” Eve asked as they finished drawing out the last of the symbols.

“It will if done properly Eve.” Sybilla told her. “I’ll need all the help I can get.”

Eve was wary about performing the spell. Sybilla always seemed to need her whenever such a thing took place whether it was a voodoo ceremony, or a spell to cast out evil. It wasn’t because Eve needed the experience. It was because of her gift. Like Dylan, she too felt it was a curse but unlike him she knew it was needed. At events like this or if a bad spirit had entered the body of a man, woman or child, Sybilla would cast the spirit out and Eve would eat it alive. She was a spirit eater, the one who swallowed the spirits whole and sent them back to the place from whence they came.

The room was rife with the summer heat of early June and was becoming hotter as Sybilla prepared to cast the spell. Eve could see a mist of humidity outside against the blinding orange and yellow of the sinking sun. She grew more and more nervous with each passing second, dreading what was to come.

“Come here child.” Sybilla said with great patience. “I know you’re scared. But don’t be. There ain’t no black magic in this house.”

Eve sat Indian style, close to Sybilla who opened small lacquer boxes and burlap pouches full of odd objects, listening to Kyle as he continued drumming out the slow rhythm on the dusty conga drum. From a small black pouch Sybilla took what looked like tiny red pebbles, flecked with orange spots and placed them in one of her clay pots. After that she added two feathers, one from a hawk and the other from an eagle.

“What is that?” Eve asked when Sybilla took a lock of hay colored hair from one of the lacquer boxes.

“Hair from the mane of a kelpie.” Sybilla answered. “Once the avenger spirits have hold of whoever did this they ain’t gonna let go.”

Eve was curious to know how Sybilla had even gotten a hold of kelpie hair. Those creatures weren’t easy to get a hold of seeing as they would drag people into the water with their adhesive fur or crush them to death before they had a chance to find their weak spot. But then Eve remembered how Esther had done it. All you had to do was grab hold of the bridle and one could command any kelpie that crossed their paths.

When Sybilla had finished preparing her concoction she made the sign of the cross over her, Kyle and Eve for protection. The rhythm of the drum picked up in its speed and before long, Sybilla was ready to cast her spell.

“St Michael, Prince of the Heavenly Host, hear our prayer

Protect us from the wickedness and snares of the devil, we rebuke him in the name of God

Shield us as we charge into battle, guide the hand that wields the sword

Let no fear of darkness shake our faith in you

Nor make us tremble in the face of danger

St. Michael, leader of God’s Army, defender of man

Protector of the earth and all who live upon it

Be with us as we face the evil that walks in our path

Amen”

The room had suddenly grown warmer and the sunset brighter as Sybilla prayed. Two candles on her altar spontaneously lit up, startling both Eve and Kyle. The face of her St. Michael statue was illuminated in a terrifying orange glow while fiery shadows crept up the walls.

“Go!” commanded Sybilla. “Go! Fly now! Find the one who’s done this! Let Justice be done!”

The fiery orange shadows flew from the walls and out the open windows with a terrible screech in pursuit of the murderer. The teal green shudders trembled and clacked against the walls of the house while all around them there was silence.

Sybilla could feel the power of the spell coursing through her veins as she closed her eyes, hoping to see a vision of what was to come. She slipped further and further into a feverish trance that took hold of her instantly. God was listening. He had heard her.

Behind her tightly shut eyes Sybilla was frightened by the fiery visions that visited her. She could feel the heat of the flames and smell the smoke as the avenging spirits flew faster and faster, unseen by the human eyes. Something else began to take hold of her, something far too powerful to have belonged on this earth.

“Sybilla?” Eve questioned worriedly.

“Don’t!” Sybilla commanded. “No matter what happens you mustn’t touch me!”

Eve carefully backed away as she watched Sybilla slip further and further into the grasp of the powerful heavenly being that had taken hold of the voodoo priestess. Eve and Kyle both watched with awe and horror as Sybilla’s eyes rolled back and became white, her body writhing and jerking as the being’s power coursed through her.

“Kyle!” Eve cried out frantically.

“Eve stay back!” Kyle warned.

All of a sudden, Sybilla’s head tilted up to the ceiling and from her mouth she let forth an ear splitting screech. The whites of her eyes became bright blue and her arms were outstretched. Kyle and Eve stared with awestruck horror at what was taking place. Never before had they seen a heavenly being take hold of Sybilla the way this one did.

When it all was over and Sybilla had returned to her old self, she was left with a throbbing head and weakened limbs. She shook the heaviness from her head and staggered to her feet with Eve and Kyle’s help.

“Are you alright Sybilla?” Eve asked as she helped Sybilla stand up.

“Seven days child.” Sybilla said, trying to catch her breath. “Seven days.”

Kyle’s eyes widened when he heard Sybilla’s ominous warning. Whenever she said “Seven Days” it meant that within a week the spell would have worked. Within seven days, they would know who had committed such a ghastly crime.

“I need to be alone for a while.” Sybilla told them. “Go on now, git.”

Kyle and Eve made themselves scarce, leaving Sybilla to contemplate what she had been through and what she had seen in her visions.

“At least you didn’t have to eat someone’s soul this time.” Kyle joked as they ascended the creaky stairs.

“I don’t even want to think about it.” Eve sighed.

“What?” Kyle questioned. “What don’t you want to think about?”

“You remember what happened the last time Sybilla said ‘seven days’ right?” Eve replied.

“Oh c’mon Eve that was two years ago.” Kyle groaned. “Besides it wasn’t our fault he ended up with a giant boil on the end of his nose.”

The two of them went up to Kyle’s room and out to the small balcony that overlooked St. Augustine Street. Down below people still bustled about, coming home from work or the bars or the many kitchen houses where the poor and the homeless went for their meals. Children hurried home as the street lamps lit up and their parents called them in while a few stray dogs and cats scampered into the back alleys.

“Do you really think it was Hillary and her gang that did this?” Eve asked.

Kyle didn’t have a doubt about it, but he was afraid to tell Eve the truth. After all Bayou St. Therese was filled with backwoods cutthroats who would have killed anyone or anything to make a dime and Hillary was no exception.

“It could have been anyone Eve.” Kyle shrugged. “This place is full of creeps who would do anything to get their names in the papers.”

Truer words had never been spoken. Eve knew full well that on the surface, Bayou St. Therese was beautiful. A glimpse of the old past built on old money and influence but beneath it was sodden with blood, murder, terror and sickness. African slaves had been the majority of those whose spirits still lingered there but there had been others too. Confederate soldiers had died to protect their homes and families and many Irish immigrants who had come here had been claimed by yellow fever. Anne had been right when she said that the bayou was steeped in over two hundred and sixty six years of death and terror.

“Why do you think Hillary would do something like this?” Eve asked.

“I don’t know.” Kyle replied. “But I think that the residents of the black house are up to something.”

Fear struck Eve’s mind when she heard those words. She didn’t even want to consider the possibility.

“Whatever they’re up to, it can’t be good.” she said to Kyle.

“Even if they’re up to something they wouldn’t just tell us right?” Kyle wondered. “That’d be too obvious.”

For the longest time Eve and Kyle contemplated why any of them would have committed the crime. As the night set in, neither of them had any strength left to think. The two of them went back to their respective rooms and went to sleep.