Page 85 of A Love Song for Ricki Wilde

“And then, during the Great Migration period, Southern Black people brought the religion up north to urbanized cities like Chicago, Denver, Kansas City, and, of course, Harlem. It was folded into so many creative expressions: song, dance, books. It’s a little sad that so many modern Black Christians are fearful of the religion. Itisn’tinherently dark or evil. White supremacy taught us that voodoo was the stuff of savages, that it was satanic, simply because it was a religion that, to them, gave their human property too much power. But it’s far from evil! Voodoo itself is harmless and peaceful. But like any faith, when it’s used for darkness, it can be dangerous. If you evoke a spirit to harm someone, using curses, potions, and charms, you’ll cause damage.”

Given Eva had introduced the topic of dark voodoo and curses, Ricki decided that this was the perfect time to ask her question.

Feeling her forehead go dewy with nervousness, Ricki shot her hand up. “Hi, my name is Ricki Wilde, and I’m a massive, massive stan. Beyond. And I… just have a quick question.”

“Hi, Ricki,” she said, smiling while absentmindedly massaging a temple. “Ask away!”

Ricki noticed that Eva Mercy kept rubbing her head. She’d readsomewhere that the author had been plagued by inexplicable daily migraines her whole life. Talk about a curse.

“Well, I once heard a story about a woman who put a terrible hex on a man right before committing suicide. She was a powerful priestess, I guess, because every part of the hex came true. Is there any way to reverse such a curse?”

“Good question.” Eva nodded slowly, taking in the details. She slid her glasses up her nose. “You said the woman who cursed him committed suicide right afterwards?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm. Not good,” Eva said with a grimace. She paused, rubbing her temple again. “To carry out a dark voodoo curse, you must first beckon a loa, another word for a god. I’d assume she called on Met Kalfu, the loa of black magic. To summon him, though, a sacrifice must first be made. And in the case of a very dark curse, like this one? A human death would be the sacrifice. Which is why she killed herself, I’m sure.”

All the blood drained from Ricki’s face. Her hands went clammy, and she saw bleary dark spots before her eyes.

“Oh,” she responded in a small voice.

“To answer your question,” continued Eva, “a mirror sacrifice must be made to reverse the curse.”

“You mean, another human death.”

“Yep!” Eva said gleefully. The audience broke out in soft laughter. Eva giggled a little herself and then seemed to flinch in pain.

“Sorry, guys,” said Eva. “You know I love all this witchy stuff.”

Ricki saw the author’s eyes wander to the back of the room. Eva mouthedNoto someone—a hummingbird-fast exchange—and then she pasted on a professional smile and took another question from the audience.

Ricki looked over her shoulder. In the back row, she spottedan absurdly handsome man with hazel-amber eyes. He’d lifted up a piece of paper readingARE YOU OKAY? Ricki recognized him as Shane Hall, the bestselling author and Eva’s husband.

Just then, Shane got up from his seat and whispered something to the host, who then came up to the front beside Eva.

“Sadly, we’ll have to wrap up a few minutes early,” said the host, “but this has been wonderful. Give Eva Mercy a great big hand! Signed copies of theCursedseries are up front. And look out for her ancestral memoir,Belle Fleur, when it launches next year!”

Eva thanked the crowd warmly and was swarmed by readers. As it was all happening, Ricki noticed how she looked at Shane with such gratefulness and affection, it almost felt too intimate for the room. It was a tender, sweet moment, two people so in sync that they almost communicated in sign language. A husband so concerned for his wife’s well-being that he knew when she’d had enough, and advocated for her. It was adult, responsible love. And so romantic.

It’s something I’ll never have, she thought, stumbling out of the store in a haze of terror and despair. Reality had just struck her between the eyes, as sure as if she’d been shot.

If someone has to die to reverse Ezra’s curse, then February 29 really will be my last day on Earth, she thought.Only a monster would sacrifice another person to stay alive.

Dazed, Ricki wandered outside into the cold. She walked and walked for endless blocks. Washington Heights was a foreign neighborhood to her; she didn’t know where she was going, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Tears began coursing down her cheeks, and she paced faster and faster. She didn’t bother wiping the tears; she just let them fall, because what was the point? There’d just be more.

Ricki had been holding it together until this point, but now thefloodgates were open. She had to face the reality that this was the end. Of everything. God, she wasn’t ready to go.

And she wasn’t ready to lose Ezra. All she wanted was him. His touch, his arms, his heart, his everything. Blinded by her tears, she kept going—heading uptown or downtown, she had no idea—until she felt herself being swept into a powerful embrace.

Without opening her eyes, she knew it was him. She could smell him. Feel him.

Ezra. Of course it was Ezra. They gravitated toward each other, the magnetic pull they couldn’t fight, even if they wanted to.

“You’re here.” She wept into his chest, gripping his coat in her fists.

“I’m here—you’re safe,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Just cry. Let it out.”

Ezra walked her to a nearby bench in front of a café. There, he held her and let her sob against him for however long she needed. He didn’t ask any questions or prod or say that he’d magically fix anything. There were no easy answers, just emotions.

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