Beneath the Crow's Wing

I traced my fingers along the worn edges of antique picture frames, dust clinging to my skin as I wandered deeper into the cramped shop. The French Quarter's usual cacophony faded, replaced by the musty scent of forgotten treasures and lost memories.

My gaze swept over shelves crammed with oddities until it snagged on something tucked away in a shadowy corner. Nestled between tarnished silver candlesticks sat a small, dark object that seemed to pull at me.

I reached for it, my breath catching as my fingers closed around cool, polished wood. A crow, wings poised for flight, carved with exquisite detail from rich ebony. Its eyes, though mere indentations in the wood, held a spark of life that sent a shiver down my spine.

"Quite the find, isn't it?" The shopkeeper's gravelly voice startled me. I hadn't heard him approach.

"It's beautiful," I murmured, unable to tear my eyes away from the figurine. "Where did it come from?"

He shrugged, a non-committal gesture. "Local artist, I believe.” He said, his accent thickening. Has a knack for capturing the essence of things."

The essence of things. The words echoed in my mind, stirring memories I'd long tried to bury. Flashes of candlelit rooms, hushed voices chanting in Creole, and my grandmother's wizened hands working intricate patterns with bones and herbs.

"I'll take it," I said, my voice sounding distant to my own ears.

As I handed over the cash, a flicker of unease rippled through me. The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

"You want me to look for a couple more?" he asked. "A group of crows is called a murder, you know."

I forced a smile, clutching the wrapped figurine to my chest. "I think a single crow is called a shadow, I’m good."

His laughter followed me out of the shop, a dry, rattling sound that clung to me like cobwebs.

Back on the street, I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the disquiet that had settled over me. The crow's presence in my bag felt heavier than it should, a weight pressing against my hip with each step.

I made my way home, weaving through the narrow streets of the Quarter. The shotgun house I'd inherited from my mother loomed before me, its peeling paint and sagging porch a reflection of my own neglect.

Inside, I unwrapped the crow, placing it on the mantle above a long-cold fireplace. Its obsidian form stood out starkly against the faded wallpaper, a splash of darkness in a room full of ghosts.

I sank onto the worn sofa, my eyes fixed on the figurine. Why had I bought it? What had drawn me to this particular piece?

The answer whispered at the edges of my consciousness, a truth I wasn't ready to face. 

My fingers absently traced the outline of the silver pendant hanging around my neck – my mother's last gift before she'd disappeared into the bayou, leaving behind nothing but questions and a daughter ill-equipped to face the world alone.

The crow watched me, its carved eyes seeming to hold all the answers I'd been searching for. But as the shadows lengthened and night crept in, I wondered if I was truly prepared for what those answers might reveal.

***

After a cool shower and a late dinner, I  settled into my worn armchair, the crow figurine cradled in my palms. I don’t remember when I picked it up from the mantle.  The dim light from the single lamp cast long shadows across the room, turning familiar objects into looming specters.

As my fingers traced the intricate details of the carving, the smooth wood seemed to pulse with an energy that set my nerves on edge.

Unbidden, memories flooded my mind. I was a child again, peering through the crack in my bedroom door as my grandmother moved through our shotgun house, her voice a low murmur of Creole incantations. The air was thick with the scent of burning herbs and candle wax.

On the kitchen table, arranged in a careful pattern, were crow feathers, bones, and small carved figures not unlike the one I now held. My grandmother's hands moved with practiced grace, weaving spells and secrets into the very fabric of our home.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the memory. But it clung to me, as sticky and pervasive as the Louisiana heat.

"You have a gift, chérie," my grandmother once told me, her eyes gleaming in the candlelight. Our family has always walked between worlds. It's in your blood."

But that gift had come with a price. I remembered the whispers in the neighborhood, the sidelong glances and crossed fingers when we passed. And then there was the night everything changed – the betrayal that had shattered what little faith I had left in family, in magic, in anything beyond cold, hard reality.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows, making me jump. The crow seemed to watch me, its carved eyes holding secrets I wasn't sure I wanted to uncover.

I set it down on the coffee table, my hand shaking slightly. As I did, the silver pendant around my neck grew ice-cold against my skin. I clutched it, a reflex born of years of seeking comfort in the only piece of my mother I had left.

A floorboard creaked behind me. I whirled around, heart pounding, but the room was empty. Just shadows and memories.

When I turned back, my breath caught in my throat. The crow had moved. It now faced me directly, though I knew I had placed it at an angle.

"This isn't happening," I muttered, pressing my palms against my eyes. "You're imagining things, Naima. Get it together."

But when I looked again, the figurine hadn't changed position. Its eyes bored into mine, challenging me to deny what I'd seen.

The lamp flickered, once, twice, then went out completely. In the sudden darkness, I could have sworn I heard the soft rustle of feathers.

***

I needed to get out of my apartment, away from the unsettling presence of that crow figurine. The Blue Note jazz club beckoned, promising a night of smooth tunes and strong drinks to drown out my racing thoughts.

The club was packed, smoky air thick with the scent of bourbon and the wail of a saxophone. I squeezed through the crowd, making my way to the bar. As I waited for my drink, a familiar voice cut through the din.

"Naima? Naima Delacroix, is that you?"

I turned, coming face to face with a ghost from my past. David Thibodeaux stood before me, looking barely a day older than when I'd last seen him over a decade ago. His easy smile hadn't changed, nor had the mischievous glint in his dark eyes.

"David," I managed, forcing a smile. "It's been a long time."

He grinned, closing the distance between us. "Too long. What brings you back to the old neighborhood?"

I shrugged, accepting my drink from the bartender. "Never really left. Just... keeping to myself these days."

David's gaze flickered to my hand, where I unconsciously clutched my purse. The crow figurine was inside – I couldn't bring myself to leave it at home.

"Still carrying around pieces of the past, I see," he said, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

I stiffened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear. "I can feel it, chérie. That old magic. It clings to you like Spanish moss."

I pulled back, studying his face. There was something different about David, an air of knowing that hadn't been there before. "You've changed," I said cautiously.

He laughed, a rich sound that sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. "We all have. But some things... some things stay the same. The city's secrets, for one. The power in blood and bone and carved wood."

My heart raced. How could he know about the figurine? About my family's history?

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, but my voice wavered.

David's expression softened. "No game, Naima. Just the truth. That crow you're carrying... it's more than just a carving. It's a key."

My fingers tightened around my bag. "A key to what?"

"To understanding. To power. To everything your family tried to hide from you."

I wanted to run, to dismiss his words as the ravings of a madman. But something in his tone, in the certainty of his gaze, held me in place.

"How do you know about my family?" I demanded.

David glanced around the crowded club. "Not here. It's not safe. Meet me tomorrow at St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, noon. I'll show you what I mean."

Every instinct screamed at me to refuse, to walk away and never look back. But the weight of the crow in my bag, the memories it had stirred... I needed answers.

"Fine," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "But if this is some kind of trick-"

"It's not," David interrupted. "I promise you, Naima. By this time tomorrow, you'll understand everything."

I turned and pushed my way through the crowd, desperate for fresh air. Outside, the humid night air clung to my skin like a second skin. I walked quickly, my heels clicking against the uneven sidewalk, trying to put as much distance between myself and The Blue Note as possible.

My apartment felt different when I returned, charged with an energy I couldn't explain. I pulled out the crow figurine, its eyes seeming to gleam in the dim light. What secrets did it hold? And more importantly, was I ready to face them?

Sleep eluded me that night. I tossed and turned, plagued by half-formed dreams of crows circling overhead and my grandmother's voice whispering warnings I couldn't quite hear. When dawn finally broke, I was more exhausted than when I'd laid down.

I spent the morning in a daze, going through the motions of my daily routine while my mind raced with possibilities. By eleven, I couldn't stand the waiting any longer. I grabbed the crow, tucked it safely in my bag, and headed out.

***

The cemetery was quiet when I arrived, the air thick with the scent of flowers and decay. I wandered among the above-ground tombs, their white facades gleaming in the midday sun. A movement caught my eye, and I turned to see David emerge from behind a mausoleum.

"You came," he said, relief evident in his voice.

"I want answers," I replied, my hand instinctively tightening on my bag.

David nodded. "Follow me."

He led me deeper into the cemetery, past crumbling tombs and weathered statues. We stopped in front of a small, unremarkable crypt. The name on the stone was worn away, impossible to read.

"This," David said, placing his hand on the door, "is where it all began."

I held my breath as David pushed open the crypt door. It creaked ominously, revealing a dark interior that seemed to swallow the sunlight. My heart raced, but I forced myself to follow him inside.

The air was thick with dust and the musty scent of age. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I gasped. The walls were covered in intricate symbols and drawings, eerily similar to the ones I remembered from my childhood home.

"What is this place?" I whispered, my voice sounding small in the confined space.

David ran his fingers over one of the symbols. "This is your family's legacy, Naima. The real one, not the watered-down version you were told."

I shook my head, trying to process his words. "I don't understand. My family... we were just ordinary people."

He turned to me, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "Ordinary? Naima, your family were guardians. Protectors of ancient knowledge and power."

My hand went to my bag, feeling the weight of the crow figurine. "And this? What does it have to do with anything?"

"It's a key," David explained, holding out his hand. "May I?"

Reluctantly, I pulled out the figurine and placed it in his palm. He examined it closely, then walked to the far wall of the crypt. There, barely visible in the shadows, was a small indentation in the shape of a crow.

David pressed the figurine into the space. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a grinding sound that made my teeth ache, a section of the wall began to slide away.

My jaw dropped as a hidden chamber was revealed. Inside, shelves lined the walls, filled with ancient-looking books and strange artifacts.

"This," David said, gesturing to the room, "is your birthright."

I stepped inside, my fingers trailing over the spines of books written in languages I didn't recognize. "I don't understand. Why didn't my family tell me about this?"

David's expression darkened. "They were trying to protect you. But in doing so, they left you vulnerable."

"Vulnerable to what?" I asked, a chill running down my spine.

Before David could answer, a noise from outside the crypt caught our attention. Footsteps, growing closer.

"We're not alone," David hissed, pulling me back into the main chamber. My heart pounded as the footsteps grew louder, echoing off the stone walls.

"Who's there?" a gruff voice called out.

I froze, recognizing the voice instantly. It belonged to Uncle Theo, my mother's estranged brother. The same uncle who'd vanished from our lives years ago, leaving behind nothing but whispered rumors and unanswered questions.

David's eyes widened in recognition. "We need to leave. Now."

But it was too late. Uncle Theo's bulky frame filled the crypt's entrance, his weathered face a mask of shock and anger.

"Naima?" he growled. "What in God's name are you doing here?"

I stepped forward, chin raised defiantly. "I could ask you the same thing, Uncle."

His gaze darted between me and David, then settled on the open chamber behind us. The color drained from his face.

"You opened it," he whispered. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

David moved to stand beside me. "She deserves to know the truth, Theo. You can't keep her in the dark forever."

Uncle Theo's eyes narrowed. "And who are you to decide what she needs to know?"

I'd had enough. "Stop it! Both of you!" I shouted, my voice echoing in the confined space. "I want answers, and I want them now."

Uncle Theo sighed heavily, suddenly looking older than his years. "You're right, child. It's time you learned the truth about our family."

Over the next hour, huddled in that musty crypt, Uncle Theo unraveled the tapestry of lies that had shrouded my life. He spoke of our ancestors, powerful practitioners of voodoo who'd been entrusted with guarding ancient secrets. The crow figurine, he explained, was more than just a key – it was a conduit for immense power.

"Your mother wanted to shield you from this life," Uncle Theo said softly. "She thought by keeping you ignorant, she could protect you. But ignorance is its own kind of danger."

I felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the weight of this new reality. "So what happens now?"

David stepped forward. "Now, you have a choice to make, Naima. You can walk away from all of this, pretend you never learned the truth. Or you can embrace your heritage and become what you were always meant to be – a guardian."

I looked at the figurine in my hand, feeling its power thrumming beneath my fingertips. In that moment, I knew there was only one choice I could make.

"I'm in," I said, my voice steady despite the fear coursing through me. "Teach me everything."

Uncle Theo nodded solemnly. "It won't be easy, child. This path is fraught with danger."

"I know," I replied. "But it's my path. And I'm ready to walk it."

As we left the crypt that day, the sun seemed brighter, the world more vibrant. I felt as if I was seeing everything through new eyes. The weight of my family's legacy settled on my shoulders, but instead of feeling burdened, I felt empowered.

My journey was just beginning, and I had no idea where it would lead. But for the first time in my life, I felt like I truly belonged. The mysteries of my past were unraveling, and with each revelation, I was becoming who I was always meant to be.

The crow figurine nestled in my pocket, a constant reminder of the power I now wielded and the responsibility that came with it. As we walked through the cemetery, I silently vowed to honor my family's legacy and protect the secrets entrusted to us.

Whatever challenges lay ahead, I was ready to face them. After all, I was Naima Delacroix, guardian of ancient knowledge, protector of powerful secrets. And my story was far from over.