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Italian or Greek, but hers was much darker. I was pretty sure she was African American, though her skin was a little light. Still, I looked more like her than any member of my adoptive family.
    “Well, I suppose since my mother isn’t still alive I can thank you for my impossible-to-manage hair,” I teased to break the ice.
    It worked. She and Samuel both burst out in laughter before she draped her arm around my shoulder and guided me out of the alley.
    “Come on, dear, we have a lot of catching up to do.”
    “If you don’t mind, Ms. Vivian, I need to stop by my hotel first. I suspect someone is waiting for me there, and I really need to give him a piece of my mind.”
     

Chapter Five
     
     
    Ms. Vivian’s home was an old and worn-out but still a very charming cottage on Ann Street. The inside was covered with paintings and artifacts that all appeared to be very aged, and she explained to me that most of them were family heirlooms, while the others were simply knickknacks she had collected over the years. All of them were centered on the Voodoo culture.
    An ancient book set on a tall stand next to the fireplace and when I had walked by it, I tried to casually glance at its contents, but it was written in another language. My curiosity ate at me. I felt inexplicably drawn to it and I couldn’t wait to ask Ms. Vivian about it.
    I sat in the living room on a prickly blue couch waiting for Ms. Vivian to bring some coffee. Rather than a television there was a wall almost completely bare, the only exception being a huge ceremonial mask that gave me the chills. The elongated head stretched from the center of the wall to only inches from the top. The eyes appeared to be only holes in the silver face, but the lighting gave the illusion of them glowing red.
    It took some effort to pull my attention from it and when I finally did, I noticed the two skulls that sat on the coffee table at my knees. They sat in their own wicker bowls in a nest of what I could only guess to be finger bones. They looked so realistic. I reached out to run my fingers along the smooth surface.
    “I see you’ve reunited already,” Vivian said cheerfully.
    “Are they real?” I looked at her with wide eyes.
    “Well of course they’re real. That’s your mama and your daddy, sweet pea!”
    Bile rose in my throat, and I choked back the excess saliva that built up in my mouth, snatching my hand away from the human remains I had just been fondling.
    “Are you serious?”
    “Don’t be afraid of them, Eliza. They aren’t going to bite you.” She laughed.
    “I was told my parents died in a fire in Florida. How did you get their bones?”
    “There wasn’t much left of them, of course, but I sent some people to collect what they could.”
    I stared at the boney faces looking back at me, and suddenly I was very alone. How different would my life have been if they hadn’t been killed? I longed to know more about the people who gave life to me.
    “What were their names?”
    “Your mother was Marie. She had the same fire in her eyes that is in yours. Nobody messed with my Marie. Your daddy was Lucas. He was from France and was very docile and lighthearted—quite the people pleaser. They made a good pair.”
    “Do you have a picture of them?”
    She pointed to a picture on the end table next to me, and I picked up the heavy frame. The photograph had been taken at a cemetery, which was strange to me, but the people in it were perfectly familiar.
    My mother was holding me, and I could see myself in her only slightly darker face. Her hair fell into messy, dark curls to her shoulders the same way mine did, and her eyes did show her intense personality. She wore a colorful, almost gypsy-like dress and large hoop earrings. Next to her stood my father: a white man with dark hair combed neatly wearing a business suit. He was full-bodied while she was slim and dainty. They did make quite the pair.
    “What did you say my name was?” It was as if I was