I went to Visit my great Aunt a few days ago. She lives in the Garden District, and that's one of the reasons I cherish going to visit with her.

She has a stately home--one of the more modest townhouses of the District, which boasts some of the most beautiful and graceful mansions in the world--it would have been called a mansion 100 years ago, but by today's standards it would be called a big house.

Let me tell you, it's so beautiful. A big Queen Anne style house, painted white and cream, with a large porch, delicate lace curtains, polished wooden floors, and dainty furniture. it's been photographed for some magazines before,too.

My great Aunt Drusilla married her wealthy husband Corbin, a smart and debonair gentleman who doted on my aunt his whole life, who died ten years ago. But like I said, he was wealthy and a keen handler of their finances, so Drusilla was left with a lot of money, which is how she is able to live so comfortably.

But she deserves it, and she is one of the most sweet and generous people I know. She's such a doll, too: a Southern Belle to the core. Her hair is shoulder length and dyed a pretty shade of sandy blond (she refuses to go gray!), she is 70 years old but looks 60, and she has a darling figure and beautiful hazel eyes. I've always been close to her, and I try to visit her at least twice a year. Now that I'm done with school, I can drive to New Orleans, hop on the streetcar, and visit her more often.

During our visit, I brought up the subject of the distant relative who had been killed. Drusilla didn't know much about her, but she was able to tell me a few things. We sat on the porch, eating dainty sandwiches and drinking iced tea, watching the early-evening pedestrians and the old streetcar clang and rattle by.

My great Aunt's still-pretty face, with her expensive tasteful makeup, became grim and thoughtful. She patted her mouth with a crisp linen napkin, not spilling any crumbs on her smart linen suit. "I remember hearing some distressing rumors about her over the years," she said, shaking her head. I asked what she had heard.

"Oh, her mother told me once that the poor girl was into black magic...devil worship that sort of nonsense, and I believed her, because she was so worried and upset about her daughter."
I kept quiet, wanting her to continue.

"We both know our side of the family is...you know...different," she said, "but your poor cousin was never strong like we are, and she always tried to be something she wasn't."

Yes, I thought. She was like a child, trying to play with something that was dangerous and powerful and evil.

Drusilla looked at her slim gold watch. "Darlin', I've got to run," she said. She had a meeting, one of her many charity luncheons or meetings to preserve the parks or gardens or historical homes. She made me promise to have dinner with her next week; I told her I would and kissed her goodbye.

I walked through the quiet tree-lined cobbled streets, thinking about my poor third cousin. I was pretty certain I might know where to start digging for information. I knew about a few groups in New Orleans, wannabe witches who toyed with black magic and other nonsense.

I sighed; it's people like them who give real witches a bad name. Supposedly, they held rituals that centered around human sacrifices and demonic conjuring for their own personal gain. I had seen a few in the coffee shop from time to time: pasty girls (and boys) with bad complexions and multiple facial and body piercings, layers of thick black eye makeup, head-to-toe black clothing, and dour, leering expressions. Most of them were harmless, pitiable kids, but I had seen a few who gave off evil vibes, and I could tell those people were really bad news.

So, I decide to head to my coffee shop, which I could walk to from here. I could ask some fellow employees about the ersatz witches, and do some snooping around. I looked up at the sky: it was twilight, and the sky was violet and purple and gold. I relished the walk.

I needed to call John to tell him I would be over later tonight, but he would protest and worry about me getting into all this, but in the end, I would get my way. Sometimes I scare myself when I witness how easy it is to exert my will on people, and I never tried that with John, but if he tried to stop me, I would have to make him see it would be alright, and to trust me.

Hey, it's witch power...