Page 7 of Death Card

My great-aunt took Gran’s death as hard as we did, maybe even harder. With Gran’s loss, every member of her immediate family is now gone.

A few weeks ago, she floated the idea of hosting a party at the house to celebrate Gran’s life and officially kick off Gramps’s campaign.

Gramps complained about it because he wanted all the attention on Gran, but Aunt Roberta insisted. “Adelaide would want us to celebrate her life, but she would also want us to support you, so that’s what we’re gonna do,” she’d said. Her tone left no room for argument, so Gramps relented.

He only decided to run for a seat on the council a couple months ago, after the Democratic incumbent died unexpectedly. When the Republican Party set their sights on taking over the city government, Gramps decided enough was enough. The rise in right-wing extremism throughout the country and in Louisiana alarmed him.

“They’re tryin’ to take us back in time,” he said one night while watching the news. “I’m not about to let ’em.”

With his ties to the community, his experience as a small-business owner, and his twenty-year career as a public defense attorney, he won the primary without a fight. Now he’ll face his Republican challenger in the fall, and he’ll need money—a lot of it—if he’s to have any chance of winning.

Orion slips away at the first opportunity, heading around the house to the backyard, where a plume of smoke rises from the grill.

As Gramps rests a hand on the gate, I lean into his side. “Are you all right?” I ask. “I know today is a lot.”

He sighs. “Those first few months, it was nearly impossible to cope with the loss of your grandmother, but it gets easier with every day that passes.” He wraps his arm around my shoulderand squeezes. “Adelaide wouldn’t want us to suffer. She’d want us to endure and thrive.”

“I miss her,” I say softly.

“So do I.” The rusty hinges of the gate squeal as it swings open. “Come on, everyone’s waiting.”

I suck in a deep breath and follow Gramps up the walkway.

I’ve always loved this house. It’s an old Victorian with a double gallery—a covered balcony running along the front of the second floor. The houses on either side are painted in bright, gaudy colors, but I’ve always thought ours looks statelier with its white paint and wrought-iron fence.

This house is my safe place. Before my bedroom was mine, it belonged to my mother, though there’s no trace of her left, and she wouldn’t recognize it if she were alive. I covered the walls with lilac paint and hung sheer purple curtains and soft twinkle lights. It’s my space now, but knowing that she once slept within those four walls brings me a small bit of comfort. It’s the closest I’ll ever be to her.

The sound of laughter pulls me from my thoughts. I watch as a few members of the coven spill out of the front door onto the porch, including my friends Lizzie and Chris.

Even though the coven is like one big family, not all of us are related. Our coven has its roots in the period following the end of slavery, when a group of five magical families joined together to protect and teach one another. Our numbers have grown over the years as we welcomed more Black witches who were new to the city. Lizzie’s and Chris’s families are some of those newcomers, although Lizzie’s family has been here since her maternal grandparents moved to New Orleans as newlyweds.

Chris has always been more of Orion’s friend, but Lizzie is one of my closest. We kissed once in her backyard shed a couple years ago, sparking both our bisexual awakenings. We quickly realized that we’re better off as friends, though. She and I haven’t had the chance to spend much time together lately now that she and Chris are in a flirtationship. God, that word makes me want to vomit. I wish they’d get on it with it and ask each other out already.

A hush falls over the entire group when they see Gramps climbing the stairs. They nod at Gramps with deference and respect. Gran was treated much the same. One wrong move and you would feel their disappointment tightening around you like a vise.

“Hey, y’all.” Gramps pats Chris’s back as he passes and waves to everyone else. Once he’s through the front door, the mood relaxes again.

“Mikaela!” Lizzie calls out as she pushes through the throng to grasp my hands. “Girl, where did you get this dress? I swear you’ve got some secret fashion conjuring spell, because I’ve never seen you wear the same thing twice!”

“Oh.” I look down at the black fabric. I’m wearing a pinafore dress I bought the other day with a white three-quarter-sleeve top underneath. Compared to everyone else, I’m dressed way too formally for the occasion. “I thrifted it.”

“Well, it looks good on you!” She holds my gaze for a beat, practically daring me to say something self-deprecating. Lizzie’s my hype woman, even when I don’t feel my best. In this instance, though, her words send a thrill of pride through me.

Fashion is my shield from the outside world. If I look good, then no one can tell that I don’t always feel confident in my skin.

“Lizzie, come on!” Chris calls, ignoring me completely. There’s only one girl he’s got eyes for.

“I’m coming!” She turns back to me and winks.

I stand on the porch and watch them disappear down the street toward Chris’s car. This is a regular coven hangout for them, but for me, Gran’s death dangles over my head like an axe. Maybe one day, the wound won’t be so fresh.

Inside the house, every seat is occupied. The TV blasts a rerun ofFamily Feudwhile pots and pans clang in the kitchen. It’s so loud in here, I have to resist the urge to cover my ears.

A clear plastic box with Gramps’s face taped to the front sits on a table by the door, filled to the brim with dollar bills and coins. Aunt Roberta’s serious about this whole fundraising business.

As if she could sense my presence, the woman herself pokes her head out. Her gray-black hair is flat-ironed and pinned back with a gold-and-ruby barrette. A flour-streaked apron shields her crimson floral dress. Unlike the younger witches, my aunt is dressed in her Sunday best. She dries her hands on her apron and rests her fists on her hips.

“Well, well, well. I thought you’d run off with the other youngins.”