Mary Laveau or as she was known in New Orleans, the Queen of Voodoo was born on September 10, 1801, a free woman of color in a city that was not very tolerant of people like her. Her father was Charles Laveau and her mother Marguerite d'Arcantel, and she grew up amidst a complex interplay of cultures: French, African, and Catholic. Mary wasn't divided by these influences; rather, she embraced them all, forging them into a single identity of her own making. She was devoutly Catholic, attending Mass and knowing her Bible, yet at the same time, she practiced Voodoo rituals on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain before hundreds of people. Strangely, she saw no contradiction in these two things.
She became famous for her impartiality, helping everyone the poor, the sick, and the oppressed and people came to her from far and wide, either seeking advice or something else entirely, something she preferred not to say aloud. For decades, she was the most influential figure in New Orleans, in a time when Black people didn't even have the right to be on the street after sunset.
She died on June 15, 1881, and was buried in St. Louis Cemetery No. 1. Her grave is still visited today-people leave an X on it and ask for prayers. No one knows if she can hear. But people keep writing.
"I'm sorry, Uzi," N said, his tone trying to mask his genuine bewilderment, "but I don't see how she is going to help us."
Uzi walked on with unwavering steps, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "Don't you understand? She's the Voodoo Queen. That's what they call her here. Maybe she has something that could help us."
N paused. "Voodoo?"
"Yes. Voodoo." She didn't slow down. "Here in New Orleans, they don't use the word 'magic' much. Voodoo is something different older, more complicated."
"Okay." N tried to digest this. "So we'll go to this person and ask... "
"Not exactly." She interrupted him without turning around. "Mary Laveau died a very long time ago."
N was silent. Then he said slowly, "Wait. If she's dead... how can she help us?"
Uzi finally stopped and turned to face him. "There's no time to explain now. I'll show you on the way." She took his hand and pulled him into a dark side alley. She gazed down the street for a moment, then whispered, "You can fly there, can't you?"
"I think so, but I'm not familiar with that area." N said .
"Don't worry. I know the way." She looked at him, something like confidence or perhaps determination in her eyes. "All you have to do is fly fast."
N nodded. He didn't have many answers, but he trusted her as he always did, without quite knowing why. He lifted her in his arms like a princess in an old fairy tale, spread his wings, and they took off.
The wind filled his ears as he cut through the night, and Uzi's voice came to him from the air, guiding him. "A little to the left. No, no ... I mean right."
N "You've chosen one, Uzi."
Uzi "Right. I said right."
N hovered above the French Quarter, Uzi in his arms, her small hand pointing like a military commander on an invisible map. He wasn't comfortable with the idea of the cemetery, but he didn't say so directly. He simply followed her instructions, trying not to dwell on what lay below.
"If Mary Laveau died a long time ago, how exactly will she help us?" He asked in a tone of understanding, not objection.
Uzi replied without turning to face him, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "As far as I know, people who believe in her power go to her grave and draw an X on the stone. An old ritual. They say she answers."
N was silent for a second. "And you think that will work?"
"Don't you remember we met a ghost yesterday?" she said curtly. "I think we're past the point of questioning things like that."
N chuckled softly. "Right. I forgot."
Uzi "Not to mention that you yourself-"
"Okay, okay. I see," he interrupted.
Uzi gestured toward the cemetery, and N stepped down at the entrance. He was taken aback by what he saw. St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 was unlike any other cemetery in the world, or at least that's how N felt when he first approached its gate. It wasn't just the graves; the entire place seemed meticulously designed to receive the dead, not the living. The graves he saw at the entrance were completely different from anything he was used to. Some were as large as entire rooms, decorated with classical carvings whose edges had faded with time. Others were stacked against the walls like large staircases, known to New Orleans residents as "furnace graves." Even the more traditional type N was familiar with the one embedded in the ground was far more elaborate and ornate than any ordinary grave should be.
Uzi stood at the entrance and lit the small lamp she'd taken from her pocket, then turned to him. "Come on, don't stand there."
N followed Uzi in, trying not to dwell on what he saw. But the cemetery wasn't the kind of place to let that happen.
The deeper they walked down the narrow passages, the more the space around them seemed to shrink, and the air grew heavy. The dampness of New Orleans didn't help; it felt like it clung to their skin, and the smell of ancient stones and earth filled their nostrils unbearably. Some of the graves were so worn by time and humidity that the inscriptions seemed to be gradually fading away, as if the dead here refused even to have their names read.
N walked on, trying to find a rationale for every sensation. That movement in the corner? Just the shadow of a lamp. That faint sound? Uzi's footsteps on the stones. But the feeling of being watched didn't disappear; it intensified with every step. He felt as if something was observing them from behind the graves, not moving, just watching. And this stillness was more unsettling than any sudden movement.
His stomach clenched uncomfortably, and his breathing became noticeably heavier. "Uzi..." he said finally, his voice quieter than he'd wanted. "Maybe it would be better if I flew right up to the grave, don't you think?"
Uzi sighed, shining her flashlight into the narrow angle between them and the wall. "I wish it were that simple. The thing is, I've never been here before, and I don't know what a grave looks like from the air. We'd better look around like this."
N forced the words out. "I... understand."
Uzi turned to face him suddenly, her gaze fixed on him. "Okay, what's up? Why are you acting like this?"
He stammered. "Acting like this? I... who... what do you mean?"
Uzi "I mean, you look like a scared puppy. Tell me."
He had no choice. "I'm sorry. This place... scares me."
Uzi paused. A vampire scared of graves? The idea had been almost funny at first, but she didn't laugh. She looked at his face, at the way his eyes darted between the graves, and understood that he wasn't joking. "What exactly do you mean by fear?"
He took a breath. "I mean, this place is unsettling. Every step I take feels like someone is lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to emerge from behind one of these graves. I can't focus my senses here."
Uzi understood. She, too, though she hadn't said anything, felt a shiver run down her spine every time her gaze fell on a large grave in the darkness. She stood beside him and said quietly, "Okay, I see. Let's find the grave and get out of here as quickly as we can. And at the same time..." She paused, then continued, "Let's stay close together. Just in case."
They weren't big words, but they had an effect. N felt something loosen slightly in his chest. He smiled and shook his head.
As they walked, Uzi had an idea.
"N, I think I have a suggestion that might be helpful."
He glanced at her sideways. "A suggestion? About what?"
"About your memory." She spoke in a quiet but serious tone. "You said you don't remember your past. And every time you try, you get a headache. And V and J never gave you a real explanation." She paused. "If the ghost of Mary Laveau can answer my question, maybe it can answer yours too."
The words fell on N with a strange weight. The tension in the cemetery vanished for a second, replaced by something more complex. The truth was, he didn't know if he wanted to know. His mysterious past had always been in the background of his thoughts, something he'd put off for later, but on top of everything they were dealing with-the Absolute Solver, Uzi's mother, and this dangerous guy who called (the shadow) that haunted them, adding another big question would only make the picture more complicated. Yet somewhere deep down, there was a real desire to know the answer.
N "Well... I guess this will be fine. I hope so."
After minutes of wandering through narrow passages and past ancient graves, they finally stood before it . Mary Laveau's grave resembled a small white shrine, with a closed door-like facade covered in graffiti and X's made with various pens and colors that had accumulated over the years. Old wreaths hung on either side, and a few small candles lay there, placed by unknown people at unknown times. The headstone above bore her name.
N stood before it. "Okay... we're here. Now what?"
Uzi rubbed the side of her head. She knew what she wanted to do, but something inside her stopped when she saw the grave up close. Writing on a dead person's grave, even if it was the established custom here, felt strange in a way. She took a pen from her pocket and moved toward the grave, but a hand caught hers.
N "Hey, Uzi."
She turned. "Now what?"
N "I don't think this is the right thing to do."
She glanced at him. "What do you mean by right? This is the only way to get answers."
"I know that. But think about it for a moment," N said quietly. "If this method actually worked, wouldn't this place have become a daily shrine for everyone seeking a solution to their problems? Would it answer every random scribble of a visitor?"
Uzi fell silent. The argument made sense, even if it annoyed her a little. She sighed. "Well, little philosopher, what's your suggestion then?"
N walked quietly toward the grave. He placed his hand on the cold white stones, closed his eyes for a moment, and said, "Hello, Miss Mary Laveau. I'm sorry to bother you and my friend Uzi so late. We're facing a serious problem, and we need some answers about something called the Absolute Solver. If you know of anything that might help us, we'd be very grateful. In return, I'll come back and clean your grave. What do you think?"
The place fell completely silent.
A minute passed. Nothing. Then two minutes , three minutes, five minutes, but nothing happens.
"I don't think the ghost is interested in your deal ... " Uzi said, her voice a mixture of sarcasm and frustration.
She didn't finish. On the white wall of the tomb, letters slowly began to form, as if written by an invisible finger. Letter after letter, without sound, without light, only the writing appeared on the stone as if the stone itself were speaking:
( Castle Manor House)
Uzi stared at the words for a long time. She knew the place. The name wasn't unfamiliar, but what surprised her most was the manner in which it was written. She chuckled softly nonetheless. "Well... it seems the gentle approach is working better than I expected. Now, why don't we ask about your past too? Perhaps..."
Uzi didn't finish her sentence. In a split second, N shoved her hard behind him, his other hand instantly transforming into a gleaming sword that sprang forth, striking a dagger aimed directly at her neck. The dagger was attached to chains, and upon hitting N's sword, it recoiled, quickly snapping back as its owner pulled it back onto the chains.
Before either of them could process what had happened, the dagger was spinning in the air again, its owner twisting it in circles faster than the naked eye could see.
"Interesting," a female voice said, calm and cold, inappropriate for the situation. "Your instincts aren't so bad after all."
The woman wore a black hoodie and dark jeans, a white mask obscuring her features. She stood at attention, the dagger twirling in her hand with deliberate rhythm, as if her action had been a mere formality.
Uzi stood behind N and asked quickly, "Where did this person come from?"
"Not just one person," N said, taking a half step to the right. From the other side, between two large graves, where darkness reigned for a moment before something stirred, a man emerged. He was tall and remarkably muscular, wearing a short leather jacket and black trousers. A light mustache and a neatly trimmed beard adorned his face, which did little to conceal the broad smile that spread across it. He thumped his fists together loudly, the sound echoing through the cemetery corridors, disturbing the still air.
"Finally," he said, more to himself than to them. "I've waited so long. Time to hunt."