The Witches on BellaRow Street

36. Queen Of The Underworld

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Enter to the Zetish Underworld [Part 5 of 5]

If badass Witch was a mood; It would be Miss Etienne Le'Rue.

The way her words slither off her tongue like fine silk. The way each of her steps flows like an intro to a dope song; The way her smooth Apatite Brass tone skin illuminates under florescent lights. And the way her eyes peers at us like she's waited a lifetime for a moment like this.

"Have a seat..."

There's only one chair at our end of the table, and I assume she means Aunt BeeBee, seeing that Le'Rue's staring at her. That's fine; We'll stand behind her for support. 

Aunt BeeBee takes another deep breath while tilting her head at my sisters and me. It's a gentle reminder that she's got this. Meaning shut the hell up while I speak to the lady of the hour.

And speaking of hours, once Etienne Le'Rue has a seat by the tiger tatted lady, she reaches near her left, flips the hourglass timer, and slams it against the table.

We jump, but Le'Rue doesn't.

I watch as sand slides through a thin passageway, draining our time. Or perhaps Le'Rue's reclaiming hers. I can't be sure, but when she stares at Aunt BeeBee again, the corners of her lips curl, then vanishes.

Le'Rue doesn't say anything as she glares, waiting, anticipating until the tension in the room implodes, building invisible walls between them. And at that moment, Aunt BeeBee squeezes her purse again. Odd.

"What do you want?" Le'Rue places her elbows on the table, crossing her fingers.

Damn, straight to the point. I can respect that, but the hourglass continues sliding down the tube, working against us. How long do we have anyway? Thirty minutes? Fifteen?

Aunt BeeBee expresses a look of compassion. "We seek an audience with you alone." 

The people behind the silver beads whisper amongst themselves, shifting in their seats at Aunt BeeBee's request. It's obvious, not too many people come here asking for alone time.      

Le'Rue remains calm, eyes still focus, and reserved by her request. "Exclusivity comes with a price, Borealis."

Wait, Borealis? Who dat?

Did she call Aunt BeeBee another name? A few weeks ago, our nosy neighbor called her Belinda, but I thought her name was Beverly. Right?

Junie, Faylayee, and I glance at each other, confused, wanting an answer, but I don't think we'll get one, at least not tonight.

For twenty excessive seconds, Aunt BeeBee ponders internally, somehow cornered by Le'Rue's comment, yet acting cool as she expected it. And once again, Aunt BeeBee or I guess, Borealis, clutches her purse until she snaps it open, reaches inside and pulls out a black leather drawstring bag.

It reminds me of the burgundy, velvet bag from the night in the alley, except the black leather one is bigger, and judging by how she's holding the bag, it's heavy too. There's a powerful object inside, and it's so drenched in magic. I'm enchanted by it.

I wonder why I didn't feel it before? Perhaps Aunt BeeBee placed a magic blocking spell on her purse. Wait, can you do that? Damn, I'm a Witch, I should know these things. 

Within seconds, Aunt BeeBee leans forward, placing the bag on the table, gazing at the Queen of the Underworld.

Whatever is in the bag, Le'Rue approves as she narrows her eyes for a split second, welcoming the offer. Next, she peeks at the tiger tattoo lady, nodding at her.