Voodoo Queens of New Orleans - Vol. I | ✓

Chapter 54: The Council (Part I)

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I had locked myself in the guest bedroom with the black box as my only form of company that night. No one came to me; I was left alone, which heightened my suspicions about the truth I had brought to them.

I sat on the floor, still dressed in white and covered in dirt and dried sweat. The ball gown lied on the bed, staring back at me. I thought about trying it on; I didn't need to know how it fit, since Jeffrey assured me that the dress was correct to my measurements. But I wanted to see myself in this dress. Is this how Russell Van Doren remembered me one hundred and fifty years in the past—wearing this gown when it was common attire at the time?

I expected Hezekiah to knock on the window and let himself in the room, trying to explain himself and his actions; his reasoning for keeping my father's identity a secret from me. But that never came, either. It was just silence. Unbearable silence. This made me even more suspicious of everyone. I could only trust myself.

As the night dragged on, I felt the weight of tiredness pulling at me, but I knew I wouldn't be able to achieve sleep. The Council's party was tomorrow night, and I had intentions on finding information on my own, but how would I achieve such a task? It was easy to tell myself that I was going to confront Abraham when I saw him, but when the moment finally arrived, what would I really do? Would I freeze in place, or do something that would lead to the Coterie's demise? Regardless of whether or not Abraham was my father, he still had an agenda that he was hell bent on completing; he was a Vampire Lord. Cunning. Deceitful. Wise. Strong in the physical and figurative sense. He was nearly unstoppable, and I was a huge piece in the puzzle to acquire the ritual that would give him absolute power over everyone, including the Council.

Even though I was his daughter, there was a possibility that he didn't see me as anything more than a catalyst for his own desires.

As the world began to crumble around me, I heard a knock on the door. I was given little time to compose myself before Mama came in. She inched into the room slowly like I was a wild animal ready to attack. I stood up from the ground and held my back taut. I somehow wanted to show dominance over her and the situation before; I wanted her to know that it would be impossible to sugar coat and lie to me any longer.

She said nothing as she entered the room. Her eyes were purposefully vacant; she didn't want me to know what she was thinking.

Or planning.

Her eyes then averted to the gown lying on the bed. She studied the intricacy of the dress and began to lose herself in it, like she was imagining what I would look like with it on. Then, her eyes were back onto me. I forced myself to be emotionless, too.

"Where did you get that?" she asked me, referring to the gown.

"It was given to me."

"I know that," she replied, trying not to sound snarky. "Who gave it to you?"

"Jeffrey Atkins," I told her honestly; I had hoped that transparency from my end would inspire transparency from hers. When she heard his name, her body went stiff. Not only did the mentioning of Jeffrey's name make her uncomfortable, but knowing that Russell Van Doren had gifted me the gown did, too. But I didn't want to dwell on this. I wanted to dwell on the elephant in the room:

My biological father.

"Were you ever going to tell me?" I asked her, knowing that if I didn't initiate the conversation, we could have possibly been standing in silence for long moments.

Mama couldn't look at me. She looked back at the dress; the gown was some type of distraction from what was needed to be discussed.

"Mama," I said. "Look at me!"