Voodoo Queens of New Orleans - Vol. I | ✓

Chapter 8: The Jubilee

Hezekiah made me undress in front of him into the clothes he had brought me.

"You lost the privilege of privacy when you tried to kill me," he said when I asked why I couldn't get a minute to myself to change. Knowing there was absolutely no use in arguing with him after the 'entanglement' he put us in moments before, I turned my back and began to undress. Even though I couldn't see him, I knew he was drinking me up like a goblet filled with blood the moment I slipped off the straps of my nightgown.

I pulled out the dress that was in the bag Hezekiah brought in. It was long (thankfully), violet, and thin against my fingertips. The accents gathered at the bottom but feathered out once they reached the top. I appreciated that it was sleeveless, but that's about it. The dress was hideous to me besides that factor. Regardless of its design, I put that thing on with a frown that hurt my eyebrows. It fit me real loose; the dress fell past my hips and most definitely didn't cling to my ass whatsoever.

"Why is this so big?" I asked him.

"I didn't make the damn dress, so don't ask me."

I huffed at him like a tired dog. Unfazed, he pointed to the bag.

"Go on, put on the rest."

"The rest?"

He was talking about the stockings, black Journee shoes and the pearl jewelry that was left. If I didn't know any better, I'd figured that Hezekiah thought I smelled something foul in the bag from the look on my face.

"What is this, The Great Gatsby?"

"If I say yes, will you hurry up and put the shit on?"

"No."

He glared at me, prompting me to hurry up and put on everything to finish the outfit off. The shoes were a size too small, the stockings barely made it past my thighs and the pearls were making my skin itch. Knowing what kind of attire it was—1920s Party Chic—it made sense why the dress was so loose-fitting. Everything else? Hezekiah could have easily asked for some measurements before getting the outfit.

"Did you steal this from a white girl's closet or something? Everything is too small," I was kicking my legs out like Hillbilly Buck trying to get the stockings to fit. "My thighs are suffocating."

"All you do is complain," he snapped at me. "You sure you ain't really somebody's Maw-Maw, complaining that much?"

"I'm twenty-four-years-old and perfectly entitled to an opinion, which you claim is complain—"

"Hold still."

Usually when someone tells you to "hold still," you assume it's because a bug or something is on your face or shoulders. But in that situation, I thought there was a bloodsucker trying to get in through the window. So, I stood as straight as a pole and doe-eyed my stare to the wall. Hezekiah sighed like he was irritated before he came up behind me.

"What are you doing?" I asked him while I took two steps in the other direction.

"Just turn around and hold still," he told me. And despite my physical protest, he came up behind me again and grabbed hold of my dress to pull me nearer to him. I thought he was taking it off; ten minutes ago, he was admiring my quote on quote: "nice round ass and curves in all the right places." I thought he wanted more, and I mean more more. And who was I to try and fight him off if he wanted to satisfy that craving all men, dead or alive, seem to have? I already failed at getting his body off me the first time.

"You better not be trying any funny business back there," I warned him. The trembling in my voice made me look like a mean-mugging mouse.

"Relax. Your necklace is coming undone."