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, the music is humming, the bass is drumming, and my feet hurt, but the show must go on. The cover-up. The front. The Lie. The wave, smile, and pretend like everything is normal alibi.

And yet, Aunt BeeBee's last words leave a bitter taste in my parched mouth. Let's stick together, she says.

I know what she's trying to say, without saying it. Her message is directed at me. Sticking with my sisters pushes me further away from him--Zion. And speaking of, he's going to kill me, making me the worse on-again-off-again girlfriend out there.

Zion hasn't called or texted in over an hour. Damn. Maybe I should call him? No, that'll make it worse. Just text him, Yanni. I reach inside my black bag, pull out my cellular, and text him, "Hey!" and add two heart-eyed emojis to soften the blow. I hope it works.

"Okay, the plan is to take pictures, talk to bouncers, bartenders and anyone police might question." Aunt BeeBee applies ruby rouge lipstick the same color as blood, waiting for us to agree. "Got it?"

We all nod, looking at each other with heavy skepticism, unsure if we can pull this off, but it's game time.

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. Only the sound of our heels click-clacking against paved streets alerts partygoers that we're near.

And although my sisters and I are acting normal, we're only as strong as our weakest link--insert our sister, Fay. Faylayee squeals every time she hears a loud noise, causing random strangers to glance in our direction as we walk through over-crowded streets.

And to make matters worse, everyone seems to be bumping into Faylayee, or shouting near her ear, or giving her random Mardi Gras beads as if she's a magnet for unadulterated drunkenness. Despite her need for attention, she doesn't respond well to it tonight.

"Fay, you need to relax," whispers Junie, who shouldn't talk since her edginess is showing too.

"Oh, yes! Let's pretend everything is all freaking right!" Faylayee blurts out, bumping into a mindless partygoer.

To soothe the tension--and to ward off nosy strangers--Aunt BeeBee flashes a big smile and laughs, nudging us to do the same. And for the second time tonight, I join in on appeasing the masses by complying and smiling along with her.

We're all fake as hell in these streets, but I digress.

Aunt BeeBee pulls us to the side, near a street performing group, playing old jazz tunes with a tipping bucket in the middle. She leans in, whispering as loud as she can about our next move. "Okay, let's go to the most famous bar on Bourbon." She waits for us to agree. "Jun, I think you know the bouncer, right?"

"Yeah, I know Fat Craig," Junie grins. "He's always talking about who has the best gumbo in NOLA, but we all know who makes the best gumbo in New Orleans..."

"Aunt BeeBee!" My sisters and I say it at the same time, crackling to ourselves. It's the laughing break we need, our little moment, our calm before the storm, our remedy.

"We're gonna be fine," Aunt BeeBee reassures us. "Now, let's go."

We follow her lead, she's confident, optimistic, and mentally prepared for everything we need to do before the night is over. I, on the other hand, am distracting myself by focusing on all the weirdness happening around me--It's not working. I even double-checked my phone, hoping I received a few text messages from you know who--and nothing.