The Witches on BellaRow Street

2. On The Count Of Three...

My Soul feels like magic.
*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ*

If I waste any more time my sisters might attack me, and leave me in the alley, and then there would be two dead bodies instead of one.

"I think we should go with..." A prickly sensation scratches the back of my throat, forcing me to cough before I can finish my sentence.

"Really, sis?" Junie blurts out.

I want to laugh but now is not the time. Instead, I decide to give my answer. "I think we should go with Aunt BeeBee's plan--let's cover it up."

I hear Faylayee gasp in the background, giving me all types of bitter dissatisfaction, but she can't stay mad at me forever. Right? 

Faylayee's grievances turns into shady sarcasm. "Yeah, let's cover it up, and while we're at it, let's toss him in the dumpster, and bury him under a heap of garbage." 

"Wow, Sis, that's not a bad idea." Junie's wide-eyed, glancing at Aunt BeeBee, pointing towards the corner. "We can wrap him up in that plastic bag over there..."

In the corner laid a few crates, a wooden panel board, and a black plastic bag hanging off a hook.

Faylayee gasps, clutching her Mardi Gras beads. "Are you kidding me?"

I thought it was a good idea. We could carry him to the corner, and then use the crates to cover his body. Out of sight, out of mind.

"Fay, come on..." I groan, trying to reason with her. "Junie's joking. Right, Junie?"

Junie said nothing. But she did place a hand on her hip, staring at me. Meaning any idea at this point would be a good idea since we need to hurry up.

And speaking of hurrying up, it had to be ten or eleven o'clock at night. My phone hasn't stop vibrating for the past twenty minutes. It's a constant reminder, that I'm late and he's waiting for me. The truth is, I want him here, so he can tell me everything will be okay, and comfort me with his toned arms and--

"Well, I'm not using my magic. That's where I draw the line. Hmph." Faylayee's tantrum snaps me out of my thoughts.

"Fay, we're not using our magic." Aunt BeeBee emphasizes the phrase our magic, meaning we're not using soul magic aka good magic.

Junie chimes in. "Wait, we're not?"

"No. We're covering up his death the old fashion way," declares Aunt BeeBee.

Faylayee snorts, crossing her arms. "Of course, we are. And once we're done, I'll grab my broom and sweep everything up." Despite Faylayee's ridiculous joke, she's handling the situation quite well. It could have been worse. She could have fainted.

Junie scoffs as she pulls out a hair tie for her dreads. "Fay, I can't... I can't with you." 

"Ladies." Aunt BeeBee's dominant tone ends the bickering between them. "Let's be smart about this." 

"Yes, smart," wails Falyayee. "Smart people call the cops!"

Junie snorts, again. "Girl, stop."

We could call the New Orleans Police Department (NOPD) and leave an anonymous tip, but the assailant's body is deformed and twisted. If NOPD posted his death under unusual, unsolved, and a mystery then the National Investigative Witch Police (NIWP) might step in. And if the NIWP steps in, we're screwed. The NIWP uses magic to detect if a witch or warlock used magic to cover up a crime. However, the only way they can find out who did it is if we use our magic--our registered soul magic. And that's why we have to cover up the crime the 'old fashion' way. 

For a minute, no one says anything. It's like we're all thinking the same thing, wondering if it's a good idea to cover up a dead body, but at the same time having no other choice.

Do we have a choice?

Without further ado, Aunt BeeBee steps closer to the dead assailant, squats down, and grabs the side of his waist. We're all stunned when she looks back up, waiting for one of us to make the next move.

Of course, ride-or-die Junie goes first, gripping the assailant's ankles for support, then smirking back at me. She lives for these moments. Well, not someone dying moment, but handling situations while under pressure.

And now, it's my turn to step up. Damn. Why me.

I bend down, grabbing the left side of his waist, the opposite side from Aunt BeeBee. At first, I cringe at the wet and sticky feeling of his clothes. It's evident, the Zetish magic did a number on his body, and his clothes. The pungent odor protruding from his skin smells like cheap cologne and stale beer.

All three of us look at each other, breathing rapidly, but holding our breaths. At least we're all in this together--All of us except for Faylayee.

"Fay, sis, we need you, hun. You're the fourth." Aunt BeeBee encouraging words may help, but I don't think Faylayee's ready.

Faylayee panics. "I can't---It's so hot out here. Right?" She's stammering through her words and patting down her smooth sienna bronze skin.

"Fay, girl, like for real, come on," huffs Junie.  

"Fay, you got this. I know you do," I encourage her since it's the only way she'll listen.

Faylayee squeals. "But--But what are we going to do with him? What about our fingerprints? What about my dress?!"

"We'll use a spell to remove our fingerprints and whatever dirt residue we have on our clothes," Aunt BeeBee pauses. "First, we need to move him near the dumpster and away from the center of the alley."

"I don't think we should do this..." Faylayee doesn't say much after that. Her intense eyes stare back at us while avoiding his contorted body. I think she 'turned off her humanity' as she made her way back to the head of the dead body. However, witches can't turn off their humanity but we can remain impassive about the situation just like any other human.   

Once Faylayee squats down in front of the victim's head, she pouts again, shouting why she had to grab his musty armpits instead of someone else.

"Fay, we gotta hurry up," utters Aunt BeeBee as she peeks up, listening to a nearby jazz club, serenading partygoers on Bourbon Street. "Because we're gonna need an alibi."

"Of course, we will," grumbles Faylayee, swinging her hand. 

"Now, on the count of three, we're gonna lift him and sit him over by the dumpster, got it?" Aunt BeeBee peeks at all of us and began counting. "One....two... th---"

As Aunt BeeBee starts to say three, her eyes bulges out of her sockets. She spots a drunk man, holding a beer bottle at the front part of the alley. He has one hand in his pocket while using his elbow to hold onto the wall. But what catches our attention is all the empty bottles he's knocking over with his feet.

Faylayee yelps. "Oh... my...God."

She yelped so loud, the drunk man wobbles back, shakes his head and then ogles at the scene--A scene of four African-American women, standing over a dead body.

For a minute, he stares at the alley, squinting his eyes, and adjusting them so he can see in the dark. One-by-one, he looks at each of us, absorbing the scene until his curious eyes lands on a body laying on the ground—A dead man's body.

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