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“Miss Ruby?” laughed the judge. “Boy, you really are stretching things now. Miss Ruby is a lot of things, but she’s no witch. No two finer women in the parish. None.”
Frustrated, Hopkins could hear the agreements and nods around him. He gathered his things and left the room, the judge calling to him as he did.
“You have a good day, Mr. Hopkinzzzz,” he emphasized. “But hear me well. You cause trouble in my parish, and you will regret it.”
CHAPTER SIX
Marcus Hopkins tossed his folder onto the bed in his hotel room. He’d been hearing of strange things happening in this part of New Orleans for decades now. Animals following an old woman like dogs. And not just any animals. Elephants, alligators, even gorillas! She was a witch.
People said strange things happened when she was around. Her family always seemed to escape ill-fate, her husband even older than she was. How was all this possible?
“Witchcraft,” he whispered to himself.
He hit the remote for the television and turned it to the news. Maybe he’d hear something about the witch hunt happening with his colleague in Germany. Germany. Always a hotbed for witches and witchcraft, they hoped to hunt down three women who were notorious witches in the area.
People were under the illusion that witchcraft didn’t exist, that it never did. It was ridiculous! Of course it existed. How else could women possibly have known how to save a mother struggling through labor, long before sonograms, or anything else? Women, in the 15thand 16thcenturies, helped others survive. Women who avoided the plague, sickness, and even helped to heal bones before x-rays existed. How? Witchcraft, that was how.
Irene Robicheaux and Ruby Norgenson were witches.
“In other news tonight, it is with great sadness that this reporter must tell you of the passing of several local personalities, icons really, who were tragically killed this afternoon in a car wreck.
“Matthew and Irene Robicheaux, Sven and Ruby Norgenson, and their dear friend Teddy Abbott were all killed when their SUV hit a curb and tipped over, killing all five as it slid into a canal. The Robicheaux family is famous in this area for their generosity, kindness, and willingness to always help those in need.
“Miss Ruby is nearly as famous. According to the local sheriff, none of them should have been driving at their age, all over one hundred, but Gaspar, their oldest son, said his parents refused to stop doing the things they loved. The carload of centenarians was on their way to deliver baskets to the church shelter.”
“They were icons, Mike. I went to school with some of their grandchildren, and they were just fine people. Folks in this area would say they were good people,”smiled the female anchor.
“I didn’t know them well, Anne Marie, but when I was around them, they made me feel like family. According to their daughter, Claudette, there will be an open casket service for all five individuals to be held at St. Louis Cathedral to accommodate the crowds. They will be interred at their family plot.”
He stared at the television, then reached for the remote to turn it off as they moved onto the next story.
“No. It cannot be,” he whispered. “It’s all a trick. I won’t believe it until I see their bodies!”
Someone pounded on the wall of his hotel room, telling him to be quiet, and he threw the remote at the wall.
“I don’t know what they’re doing, or how they’re doing it, but they are not dead. I will prove it, even if I have to dig up their bodies myself.”
Seated in front of his computer, he fired off an e-mail to his colleague in Germany, asking if he could free himself to help him. It was the middle of the night there, but he could be out searching for his own witches.
He ordered room service, then took a quick shower. By the time he was out and dressed, his food was at the door. He didn’t like New Orleans, but the food was spectacular.
How could you like a city that had been steeped in evil? Not just the kind that humans created, but the kind that demons, witches, voodoo queens, and priests created. Shadow men. Male voodoo or witches who spoke to those on the other side of the living realm.
Evil. They were all evil. Oh, he’d met a few that claimed they only practiced good crafts. Filling food with love to make those around them happy. Using plants, herbs, and trees in teas and tonics to ‘heal’ sicknesses.
Poppycock!
It was all ridiculous. Matthew Hopkins, his ancestor, was one of the most successful witch-hunters of his era. He was a brilliant man, an attorney, and he knew how to sniff out evil. Especially in women.
Those first six witches that he accused, tried, and killed were the start. After that, he hired two assistants and offered to find witches, for a fee, obviously. In just a three-year period of time, he found, tried, and killed more than two hundred. His methods of proof bordered on torture, but others didn’t seem to mind as long as it rid the world of a witch.
His ancestor was a hero, and one day, others would view him as a hero as well.
Until then, he would prove that the Robicheaux woman and her companion were witches, and their husbands protecting them were guilty as well. When they were hanging from the very tree they protected, only then would he feel vindicated.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Mama, this is all too much,” whispered Gaspar, looking down at his mother in the casket. His father sat up abruptly, staring at his son. He was wearing his Sunday best, the blue suit, matching shirt, and tie.
