Page 38 of The Child of Rue Royale
“Oh, God. I hope so,” I say, rocking the baby back and forth.
“The ceremony will be held when you get back, but I told Violetta you don’t want anything over the top or wild. We need to get in and out of there as quickly as possible.”
“How can we have a blessing ceremony for him if he’s a boy?” My voice is hesitant because I already know what she’s going to suggest.
“We’ll have to pretend he’s a girl, of course.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Well, if you bring Bastian back and he has the answers to all our problems, then maybe you won’t have to. I’m hoping something is revealed, something that will show the coven this all happened for a reason. That you acted from love, not malice.” She nods then, looking at Aven, a feeling of warmth drawn across her face. Seeing her like that delights me, so I push the blessing ceremony out of my mind.
“He does love you, doesn’t he?” Mother says, and I see the first spark of affection in her eyes.
“He loves me so much, Mom.” I laugh loudly, a giddy joy sending gooseflesh up my arms. “He just wants to be on me every second. It’s kind of the best.”
Something flashes across her face, and then she smiles. “That’s how you were with me.” Sorrow pulls down her smile, and she clears her throat. “It will be worth it.”
“I’m sorry I’ve put you in this position—”
“We are figuring this out. And…we’ll fix it. Bring the man back. The best of them, he really was.”
That impales me, her recognition of the good man I lost. So I squeeze her hand, grateful for the crumbs of faith she tosses my way.
She doesn’t stay long, and I’m relieved. There’s too much work back home, and her face only reminds me of how much trouble we’re in. Here in Santa Cruz, Chantal, Aven, and I can forget. Forget what’s back home waiting for us.
THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, Ifind my footing as a new mother. Something I had once worried and fretted about was suddenly my reality, and though I hadn’t planned it, I’m able to establish a routine that works for Aven and me. I’m still exhausted and sleep when he sleeps. But lucky for me, witches have advantages we can take for granted. When it comes to chores, the laundry can fold itself. I can make my bed with a snap of my finger. I have ointments that eliminate the pains of nursing. Jade teaches me a spell that can turn my milk off and on whenever I want, so I don’t leak at the worst times. I can take Aven for walks now that we know he can withstand the sun. Chantal and I go to coffee downtown, and I pop in and out of a gem and herb store often, stockpiling what I need for the biggest spell of my life.
There’s slightly more confidence with the necromancy spell because it’s not one I’m creating from scratch, like the potion I created for Bastian. This spell has very specific steps to follow within the pages of my grimoire.
Winnie’s ready, practically crackling with the desire to create a spell. I haven’t been able to use her as much since we’ve been in California, but her pages are nearly roaring with excitement. The time nears.
Mother told the coven Aven has arrived, that he’s a girl, and I’m not ready to travel. Because we told them I wasn’t as far along as I truly was, we bought ourselves some time. She sends pictures to the elders of the child that doesn’t look like a boy nor girl. Just a baby in my arms.And I don’t want to hide him; I can’t take it much longer. The clock is ticking, and our future is in my hands.
I’ve never been lucky enough to have nothing to lose. I was born with a laundry list of expectations, traditions to uphold, and a legacy to fulfill. Even when I let go and fell in love with Bastian, there was always a pulse of fear in the back of my mind. What if we got caught? What if Violetta and her evil sister Rosemary found out about the potion? I never rested completely with ease. And now as I prepare for the biggest spell of my life, what I have to lose aches at the forefront of my mind. I’m a mother with something I love more than myself. But I must believe that it’s all a part of a bigger plan. That the seeds were planted by my grandmother, even though she died with this secret.
Almost two months to create a spell is a long time, and though I’m anxious to get Bastian back, I’m also taking in this drastic transition to motherhood. I was always told it came naturally to witches, which wasn’t the case for my mother. She loved the fun parts, the good parts. When it came to being a responsible adult, that was not her forte. Thankfully, my grandmother stepped in as needed.
My sorrow and anxiety held me captive through so much of my pregnancy that I couldn’t truly enjoy it. And I worried the grief would carry into the newborn stage of Aven’s life. But I find myself navigating it naturally, and of course, witchcraft helps. As for all the chores that make life feel more overwhelming, I have help—and of course, Chantal, who has taken to Aven like a moth to a flame.
“I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as this child,” she says constantly, shaking her head as she kisses his feet. I can’t help but agree. He is perfect in every way. “I mean, just look at him. Look at him!”
When Chantal isn’t fawning over Aven or home with me, she’s hanging out with a guy she met at the beach named Edu.
“I’m not going to even show your ass the pictures he sent me for myBoy Toysalbum,” she says with that shimmy she does with her shoulders when she’s met a man she especially likes. “He is rocking my world, okay? California boys know what they are doing.”
I love hearing all the tea and telling her that living vicariously through her is the only action I will have for a very long time. When her eyes flash deviously, when her mind goes to the memories of hernights with Edu, I can’t help but think of the nights I spent with Bastian, how tenderly he made love to me, how worshipped I felt underneath him. And when she sees my eyes glass over, she grabs my hand and says, “If it doesn’t work, there’s a life after Bastian, you know?”
She doesn’t say it to be cruel or hurt me, yet it still deflates me, like I’m an angel whose wings have been plucked one by one. I don’t want to know what life after Bastian is like.
On the days I feel like I’m doing something wrong, like when I can’t get Aven to burp or he has a suspicious rash, I Facetime Jade, because she’s been through it all recently with her two girls. She has a way of making me feel like I’m doing a good job at this mothering thing, saying things like, “Oh, babe, that’s nothing. Wait until he blows out a diaper in the car,” or “Honey, if there was a perfect way to do it, they would have come with instructions.” She’s the only person that knows about our secret boy, and I know the secret is safe with her.
I’ve had so many roadblocks in my life that I don’t take for granted how perfect Aven is and how easy being his mother has become. Having this one thing go right makes me want to fall on my knees in gratitude because it could’ve gone so wrong. I have a sidekick—a forever sidekick, and I resisted it for so long, but when something is meant to be, you just know. You just know.
We sleep inhisbed, our bed, now. Aven’s and mine, and it feels good and right. Every morning, I draw the shades open and look at the ocean. Some mornings, the fog is so thick you can hardly see the ocean through the mist. But every day I open those shades is one day closer to bringing Bastian home. I awaken with him on my mind and go to sleep dreaming of him.
Aven lives in a baby carrier on my chest, bouncing around wherever I go, while I sing Queen songs to him and tell him about his daddy, New Orleans, Royal Street, Mercury (whom I miss dearly), and his grandmother.
Some nights, when he wakes crying, Chantal comes in and takes him, allowing me to sleep, and some mornings I have to fight to gethim back. “He’s happy, don’t move him!” she’ll whine, but I miss him and can’t usually help myself, so I pull him into me.
