Page 107 of We Are All Sinners

Mardi Gras decorations line the streets with it being so close to Fat Tuesday. Green, purple, and gold streamers of all kinds drape the Quarter magnificently showing off fleur-de-lis to celebrate the city. They are the perfect way for the city she loved so much to celebrate, not just her life, but how much this city loved her.

We pass Royal Street, and I see the mountains of flowers and candles in front of the compound, put there to show respect for Evie. I let the tears fall, holding her cat close as he cries in my arms while I dance for my perfect little witch one last time.

I notice others joining the parade to dance with us to show their respect and celebrate Evie’s short life as well. It’s as if something is drawing them out of their drunken slumber to witness her grand parade.

People say that the dead usually sit on their coffin, riding in their own parade, watching how big the party gets to celebrate their life. I look back at the parade that seems to grow by the minute and swear I get a glimpse of my girl sitting on top of her coffin, with a hand grenade from Tropical Isle in her hand, smiling and dancing.

Genevieve’s brothers, and a few of her newest brothers in Sins family, carry her body in a beautiful white oak casket. When her ghost disappears, once her eyes meet mine, I try to imagine her sitting on top of it dancing along with us like she just was for her last stroll through her magical city.

I may only be able to get glimpses of her, but I know she is there

It will not be her final resting place. We will free her from the confinements of that box in the bayou, where she will be able to cross over once her blood is consecrated to the earth.

Sin was able to get ahold of a friend who put together an entire second line to play for my perfect little witch’s parade.

We dance, cry, and celebrate Evie’s precious life. Her friends wave their black hankeys while holding their black lace umbrellas over them, rejoicing and mourning at the same time.

Once we make it to Lafayette Cemetery No. 1, we enter the sacred grounds, only stopping in front of her family crypt to pay our respects to her mama and gran. The witches say a prayer, ending in blessed be.

We all move on, continuing our parade, which is not common, but neither is Genevieve. This is a message to the witches working with the rebels. Their time is coming. My wife’s magic will not be put into their hallowed spaces for them to feed off of. Neither will any witch working with the people who took her life from her.

All witches, who die from now on, will ultimately be taken to the bayou and consecrated on Evie’s land for all of the LaBlanc witches to have their retribution.

We have put a block on all coven witches to the cemetery until further notice.

We finally arrive at the crematory, the weight of the moment pressing down on us as we carefully load my beautiful little witch’s casket into the hearse. The black SUVs line up behind us like sentinels, ready to escort us through the heart of the bayou. As we drive, the haunting voice of Stevie Nicks fills the air, each song tugging at our hearts—starting with the soft notes of “If You Ever Did Believe,” and a final crescendo to a powerful chorus of “New Orleans” as we pull onto the familiar dirt road leading to her sanctuary.

The girls spring into action, setting out candles, salt, crystals, and sacred objects, forming a circle with the trinity symbol at its center. I watch in a daze as they place each dark relic, whisperingwords of love and remembrance, their movements a delicate dance of grief and hope. I mentally trace the outline of each item, grounding myself in this ritual that feels both surreal and essential.

As I help to lift her casket from the glossy black hearse, my heart pounds in my chest, a mix of dread and love. I open the casket, and my breath catches. There she is, my bride, the light of my life, dressed in the vibrant green gown she had chosen for our reception. She looks serene, almost ethereal, like a sleeping beauty caught in a dream. My heart aches at the sight, longing to hear her tiny snores once more, and to feel her warmth against me.

A single tear escapes, tracing a path down my cheek as I gather her into my arms for the last time. Her perfume, the scent of magic and home envelops me. In this moment, as I carry my precious Evie into the circle, the dam I have been holding up finally breaks. Sobs claw their way from my chest as I clutch her tightly, each breath heavy with sorrow.

I sink to my knees in the circle, unwilling to let her go, my tears mingling with the salt and earth beneath us.

I stand in the circle for a long moment, just holding her. I don’t want to let her go, but I know I have to do this for her.

I place her gently in the center of the trinity, arranging her arms wide, her feet aligned, as if inviting the universe to embrace her. I lean down, kissing her lips softly, my tears falling like rain on her face, each droplet a testament to my love and loss.

For a moment, I think that if this were a movie, and she really was sleeping beauty, that she would wake up now. But that doesn’t happen.

This isn’t the fairytale she was supposed to have.

I lean down to Evie’s ear and whisper, “I have never loved anyone since you and I never will. You are my past, my present, and my future. Till we are ghosts, and even then, I will chase you into the afterlife and love you until the heavens crumble.” I tell her as I pull the dagger I took from her shop from the sheath under my suit jacket.

I place the dagger to her left wrist slicing up her arm, then move to her right, as I was instructed to do by the witches. At least thirty New Orleans witches surround us in the circle they created chanting words that I don’t understand.

I sprint back to the SUV, my heart pounding with a mix of anger and urgency. Liam and Noah are already hauling the two men responsible for Evie’s death out of the vehicle. I quickly grab the letter out of my jacket and place it on the drivers seat.

I hurry back to where the guys are watching the two murderers thrashing helplessly before they hit the ground outside the ritual circle. The sight is both satisfying and disturbing. Their panic feels like a small measure of justice.

“Don’t move them too far,” I command, my voice trembling with the weight of my rage. “Leave the moths in place. Let their suffering linger, just as mine will until my last breath.”

I watch them squirm against the dirt and I swear I can almost feel the echoes of my own grief coursing through me. These men deserve every moment of agony, a reflection of the void they’ve left in my life. I stand there, my heart racing, knowing that their torment is a dark but necessary part of the ritual, a final act of defiance against the fate that has come for my Evie.

I told them to leave the moths in place to let their torture continue into their death as I know mine will.

Liam and Noah hold gunman number one and gunman number two up by their hair. I move in front of them, “You are both sentenced to death for the murder of Genevive Hope LaBlanc Blaze. May you rot in hell for your sins.” I slice the first guy’s neck, letting him bleed out while watching me decapitate his friend. They don’t deserve my time, Evie does, and she is waiting for me. I whistle for the gators, telling everyone to move back.

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