The Witches on BellaRow Street

4. Let's Act Normal, Got it?

My soul awakens when I put my sistahs first.
*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ*

Let's head to Bourbon. Let's mingle. And let's stick together.

It's almost midnight, and the streets are buzzing with life. Neon lights reflect off puddles on the uneven pavement, and music hums in the air, a mix of jazz horns and bass drums that vibrate in my chest. My feet ache from the endless walking, but there's no room to stop. The show must go on—the cover-up, the front, the lie. Every wave, smile, and pretend-everything-is-normal alibi feels heavier than the last, like I'm dragging the weight of the night with me.

And yet, Aunt BeeBee's last words leave a bitter taste in my parched mouth. "Let's stick together," she says, her voice carrying an edge of forced optimism. I glance at my sisters, their faces illuminated by the flicker of bar signs. Fay's arms are crossed tightly, her eyes darting nervously, while Junie strides ahead, trying too hard to look carefree. The words sound simple enough, but I know what she really means: no one talks, no one cracks. I feel the pressure sink deeper into my chest. Together, we move through the crowd, acting like everything is fine, but each step feels like a reminder of how fragile our story really is.

I know what she's trying to say without saying it. Her message is directed squarely at me, hitting a nerve I've been trying to ignore all night. Sticking with my sisters means staying loyal to them, but it also means pulling myself further away from him—Zion. And speaking of Zion, he's going to kill me. I'm officially the worst on-again-off-again girlfriend in history. The guilt churns in my stomach like bad gumbo, making me feel even heavier than the night already has.

Zion hasn't called or texted in over an hour. My screen stares back at me, blank and accusing. Damn. Should I call him? No, that'll just make it worse. Maybe a quick text will calm him down. Just text him, Yanni. I dig inside my black bag, my fingers brushing past random receipts and loose gum wrappers until I find my phone. With a deep breath, I type out, "Hey!" and add two heart-eyed emojis for good measure, hoping it softens the blow of my absence. I hit send and shove the phone back in my bag like it's evidence of a crime.

"Okay, the plan is to take pictures, talk to bouncers, bartenders, and anyone the police might question," Aunt BeeBee says, snapping me back to reality. Her ruby-red lipstick glistens under the streetlights, the exact color of blood—appropriate, given the situation. She looks at us expectantly, her eyes sharp and unrelenting. "Got it?" she asks, waiting for us to nod like soldiers heading into battle. I nod, but my mind is still half on Zion and half on the mess we're in.

We all nod, glancing at each other with heavy skepticism. It's hard to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach, knowing how fragile our plan really is. I can tell by the way my sisters are holding themselves, stiff and uncertain, that we're all thinking the same thing: Can we really pull this off? But it's game time. There's no turning back now. We've come too far to back out.

We move in silence, exiting the abandoned alleyway like James Bond secret agents on a mission—except we don't have guns, we have magic. My heels click-clack on the pavement, the sound sharp and clear, echoing in the cool night air. It's the only thing that marks our presence as we make our way down the street. The sound seems too loud in contrast to the hum of the crowd around us, but we keep our heads down, trying to blend in with the sea of partygoers.

Even though my sisters and I act normal, we're only as strong as our weakest link. Enter Fay. Faylayee's nervous energy is impossible to hide. Every time she hears a loud noise, she squeals, her voice rising above the others, drawing glances from strangers as we navigate through the overcrowded streets. I can feel my heart race as more eyes flicker in our direction, but we push forward. We need to stay calm, but it's getting harder with every step.