Page 7 of Bewitched By the Voodoo King (The Bewitching Hour #7)

The Matriarch was nothing like I had imagined, especially not for Rune’s mother.

Rene Benoit sat serenely on a plush down pillow in the middle of a cream-painted room, her presence commanding despite the casual surroundings.

In one hand, she held a delicate silver sewing needle threaded with black string; in the other, a small black voodoo doll, its blank expression somehow unsettling in the otherwise warm space.

The room was a study in controlled chaos.

Incense burned in ornate holders on a low table behind her, its smoky tendrils curling through the air and mixing with the faint scent of lavender.

Swatches of patterned fabrics—bright reds, deep blues, and soft yellows—were draped over every available surface, giving the space a vibrant, lived-in feel.

Rene herself was a striking figure. A thick ruby turban wrapped around her head, partially covering her forehead, while a gleaming gold hoop pierced the center of her nose, catching the light with every slight movement.

Her light brown skin seemed to glow against the dark green pantsuit she wore, a perfect blend of elegance and authority.

Bare feet peeked out from beneath her crossed legs, toes adorned with delicate golden rings that glinted faintly in the soft light.

This wasn’t the stern, intimidating leader I had pictured. She exuded a calm, almost playful energy, as though she could dismantle your life with a needle and thread but would do so with a smile. It was a stark contrast to my own mother’s controlled poise.

Rene glanced up from her work, her sharp, light blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. She didn’t speak immediately, letting the silence stretch until I felt the weight of her gaze settle fully over me.

“So,” she said, at last, her voice smooth and warm but carrying an undeniable edge of power. “You’re the one who’s going to marry my boy.”

The words lingered in the air, daring me to respond.

She spoke them as though this was my decision—as if Rune and I had locked eyes across a bustling street in the Quarter, drawn together by some romantic twist of fate, and not shoved into this arrangement by forces beyond our control.

I swallowed hard, suddenly unsure if I was ready for whatever this conversation might hold.

“I suppose so,” I said cautiously, hovering in the doorway. My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my shirt as I resisted the urge to retreat.

One of her partially covered brows arched, the subtle movement carrying far more weight than it should have. “Sit, please,” she said, gesturing to the cushion in front of her with the needle still poised between her fingers.

I hesitated, the mix of authority and invitation in her tone unsettling. Her calm gaze didn’t waver, and I felt the unspoken challenge to defy her. Swallowing my nerves, I stepped forward and lowered myself onto the cushion, my movements awkward and stiff compared to her effortless grace.

The fabric was soft beneath me, but the tension in the room made it hard to relax. Rene’s attention returned to the doll in her hand, the needle moving with precise, deliberate strokes as she stitched a pattern so fine I couldn’t discern its shape.

For a long moment, the only sound was the faint scrape of the needle through fabric and the crackle of incense burning behind her. Then she spoke again, her words were sharp despite their measured tone.

“You seem… unsure.” Her gaze flicked up to meet mine, pinning me in place. “Of Rune, of this arrangement. Of your place here.”

“I’d say that’s an understatement,” I admitted, my voice coming out smaller than I intended. “None of this was exactly my choice.”

“No,” she said, her lips curving into the faintest smile. “It wasn’t. But choice or not, you’re here now. And what happens next depends entirely on how you carry yourself.”

Her words were gentle, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath them.

I nodded slowly. “I want to help, but I also don’t understand any of this.

I don’t think I am any good here. Rune hates me.

I don’t have—” The words caught in my throat.

I wasn’t to tell these people that I didn’t have magic.

It was a secret until absolutely necessary.

My father warned me it could be life or death.

Rene’s eyes shot to mine, her voodoo doll now long forgotten. “You don’t have what?” Her chin tilted up as if she was seeing me in a new light, as if she could decipher all of my thoughts.

I swallowed thickly. “I’m not so sure I have what it takes. I’m not some powerful witch. I’ve never even thought of war and death. I don’t know why I’m here.”

Her lips turned down as I spoke. “I appreciate your honesty.” She put the voodoo doll aside and got to her knees. She held out a hand to me and I knew, thanks to Babette, that I couldn’t trust her to not read me but I knew I didn’t have a choice either.

Rene’s outstretched hand lingered in the space between us, steady and unyielding.

Her light brown eyes bore into mine, a silent command to take it.

Every instinct screamed at me to hold back, to keep my secrets buried deep where no one could pry them loose.

But I knew this was a test. Refusing her wasn’t an option.

Slowly, I extended my hand, letting it hover for a fraction of a second before her fingers closed around mine. Her touch was warm, her grip firm but not crushing.

The air in the room shifted immediately, like the hum of energy had turned into a tangible weight pressing down on my chest. Rene’s gaze sharpened, her thumb brushing against the back of my hand.

“Do not mistake humility for weakness,” she said softly, her words measured and deliberate. “The ancestors do not waste their time with the unworthy. You are here for a reason.”

“I wish I knew what that was,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You will,” she said, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “But the first step is to stop hiding.”

My heart stuttered in my chest. “Hiding?”

Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “I see it in your eyes, child. You carry something heavy, something you think will break you if you let it out.” Her gaze grew sharper. “But secrets have weight, and you cannot carry them alone forever.”

I froze, her words slicing through me like a blade. Did she know? Could she see it—my lack of magic, the void where my power should be?

“I—”

“Shh,” she interrupted gently, squeezing my hand. “Do not speak unless you are ready. But know this: the truth has a way of revealing itself, whether you want it to or not.”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My father’s warning echoed in my mind: It’s life or death, Maple. Don’t let them know until you absolutely have to. Some covens would consider you weak, they could kill you.

Rene tilted her head, studying me as if she could see straight through my carefully constructed walls. “You’re stronger than you think,” she said after a long pause. “But strength means nothing if you don’t trust it.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “I don’t know how to trust something I’ve never seen.”

Her smile widened, softening the sharp edges of her gaze. “Then perhaps it’s time you start looking.”

She released my hand, the warmth of her touch fading instantly. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my mind spinning with the weight of her words.

“Rune will test you,” she said, settling back onto her pillow with an ease that made the conversation feel like a passing breeze. “He is stubborn, but he has his reasons. Do not let his doubt plant seeds of your own.”

I nodded slowly, her words pressing into me like a brand.

“And Maple,” she added, her voice softer now, “whatever you’re hiding, remember this: secrets are powerful tools, but they are also dangerous burdens. Use them wisely.”

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She leaned back on her cushion as if she hadn’t read everything there was to know about me. There was doubt in my mind that she knew I had no magic. I could practically hear the truth screaming in the silence between us. “Tell me about you, Maple.”

I could have laughed, I almost laughed. “Didn’t you just see everything about me?”

Her grin was big and genuine. “I can’t see your life story or what you do for fun.

My divination doesn’t work like that. I don’t want your secrets.

I just wanted to know if you were good for this coven— for my boy.

The rest doesn’t matter. The ancestors tell me what’s important.

But not every diviner is like me. Be careful who you give your hand to because they will tear you apart piece by piece to find what’s hiding inside of you. ”

“And Rune?”

Rene took a deep breath before letting it out slowly.

“Rune has death magic. He cannot divine like me or his father. He is more in touch with the ancestors than we are and I am sure that’s why he is very confused about his father choosing him a bride but that doesn’t mean that he can see the future or even the past. His magic is his story to tell, not mine.

” She waved a hand. “Tell me about you.”

“Like what?” I couldn’t think of anything interesting to share with this woman. I wasn’t a cool person. I barely had any hobbies besides stealing books and baking. Though I was good at both.

“Everything,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Somehow I did. I told her about my home and my family.

It spilled out of me how much I loved to be in the kitchen baking and that I probably wouldn’t have found the love for it had I not been the coven’s outcast. She didn’t ask why and I didn’t offer it up.

If she knew why, she would keep my secret.

. at least for now. I couldn’t ask for anything more.

By the time I was done telling her about my life and what I enjoyed, I was swiping tears from my cheeks. I couldn’t believe I’d given it all up just like that. Rene leaned forward on her cushion and took both of my hands in hers again.

“I know I’m going to love you like one of my own daughters. I am so thankful the ancestors brought you to our coven,” she said, her voice thick with sincerity. Her eyes held a warmth that seemed to cut through the weight I carried.

I didn’t realize how tense my shoulders were until I closed the door behind me and let out a long, shuddering breath.

The Matriarch had read me like an open book.

No, like a recipe, dissecting every missing ingredient and still finding a way to call it complete.

I wasn’t sure whether I felt seen or exposed.

Maybe both. I flopped onto the bed, arms flung out like a fallen starfish, when a knock tapped at the door.

I sat up quickly. “Um. Come in?”

Rune stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with the kind of quiet that made the whole room feel smaller.

“You didn’t get lost,” he said, arms folded, but his tone lacked its usual bite. “Impressive.”

I didn’t know what to say to that so I stared at him like an idiot instead. After a moment of awkward silence, he held up the plastic grocery bag he had tucked behind his back.

“I told the kitchen to hold back a plate from dinner,” he said, placing it on the table. “Maggie made red beans and cornbread. Figured you might be hungry after being... emotionally steamrolled.”

I blinked. “You saved me food?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to get lost looking for it.”

My eyes burned unexpectedly. It was just food. A small gesture. But no one else had thought about how I might be feeling. Not really.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. “That was… thoughtful.”

He nodded once as he placed the bag on the counter and was gone. I didn’t know if I was shocked, impressed, or suspicious.

Either way, I dug into the food like it was my last meal.