S1.E3 Bewitched - Scene 1

Ritual S1 - Episode 3 - Scene 1

New Orleans 1931

Characters in this Scene

Young Miriam Whittle

Mimi de Longpre, the supreme

Sibylla Mortimer, witches' council

Lemual Whitman, witches' council

Angela Bassett as Marie Leveau

Marcus, a bodyguard

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March 6, 1931, a 17-year-old Miriam Whittle stood outside the wrought iron gates of Miss Robicheaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. Her family thought she was anything but exceptional, they thought her a curse. Predicting the deaths of loved ones and local townsfolk had landed her in more hot water than her devoutly Catholic parents could handle. They made the decision to send her as far away from them as possible to New Orleans, to this place. Not that she was unhappy about it at all, on the contrary, she was full of hope and promise. At last, there would be people who would understand her, encourage her innate curiosity of things, and above all accept her visions for the miracles they were.

Her long-term residency at the Academy was not to be, unfortunately. After six months she had failed to produce any real magic that her tutors demanded of her. After various assessments and sessions of endless training, she waited for her powers to reveal themselves – but nothing was forthcoming. Now, she found herself sitting in the in the office of the Supreme, Madame Mimi de Longpre, having her suitability as a witch assessed. Two other members of the Witches Council joined her, Lemuel Whitman and Sibylla Mortimer. Miriam's stomach felt as heavy as a brick, she knew her fate, even before they had announced it.

"Miriam dear, you can't perform any of the seven wonders..."

"...you have no real powers except for your sporadic visions."

"..and you insist on keeping your Catholic faith."

"I'm afraid that you are not a witch.."

"...you are no more than a prophetess at best.."

"...I'm sorry my dear, but you don't belong here."

"...you need to pack your things tonight and be gone by morning."

"The Council has spoken." Lemuel Whitman banged his gavel.

Miriam now found herself without a home and without a future, and after the initial disappointment, she was angry. How dare they judge her and throw her away as if she were an old shoe. If she were a real witch, she would have cursed them all. She declined a last supper with the rest of the girls, preferring to spend time in solitude in her makeshift chapel, a converted broom closet. Madame de Longpre had allowed her this one indulgence on the condition that she keep her religious beliefs to herself.

Tonight, the witches were planning an assault on their sworn enemy to be carried out tomorrow on the eve of the Blood Moon. She had learned all about the Faction War in her first weeks at the Academy, the ongoing feud between the Salem Witches and the Voodoo Witches of New Orleans over territorial rights. This evening was a special celebratory dinner, and it was by no accident that Miriam Whittle received her marching orders earlier that day. The fact that she could not protect herself magically meant that she would be a liability to the Coven during the battle to come.

She had peeped over the railing of the stairs, and heard Madame de Longpre, making a toast, rallying the girls. Miriam returned to her little chapel; grateful that she wasn't part of this evil. The compassionate face of Christ looked forlornly down at her from his cross, and she wished she knew what was in store for her next. She bowed her head in prayer, and as she did so, her elbow bumped her bible and knocked it to the floor. Not much room in a broom closet. It landed spine side up with the pages splayed. Miriam picked it up and turned it over. The bible had always given her answers in times of need. It was opened at Ephesians 5:11. "Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them," she read aloud. She knew then what she must do.

While everyone was at dinner, Miriam slipped quietly out of the window of the second-floor bedroom she shared with two other girls, and onto the veranda. Using the east side trellis as a ladder she climbed down, clutching at the ivy when she slid a few times. She was out the gate and down the street before the first course had even been set down on the dining table. It took a good hour for her to reach the south side of town, keeping to the shadows and out of the lamplight. At last, she was at her destination. She stood across the street from Madame Laveau's Psychic Tearooms, daring herself to be brave and go in.

A bell tinkles above the door as she enters. Conversations stop. Dark faces stare at her from the shadows of the room; she can feel eyes boring into the back of her neck as she makes her way past the booths and tables of the tearoom. A large dark man wearing a long, white apron pushes a broom along then stands directly in her path.

"Excuse me, I – I need to speak with Marie Laveau. I have important news."

He looked down at her as though she were an insect. "You're a long way from home, little witch, you best scat now before you get yourself in real trouble."

"Marcus!" – a voice calls from behind a beaded curtain at the back of the shop. "Let her through!" The man steps aside as a long, brown arm bejewelled with bracelets slips through the beads and beckons, "Come child, don't be scared."

Miriam enters the lair of the Voodoo Queen, the sworn enemy of the Coven. With her heart pounding and knees knocking, she announces in a shaky voice, "Madame Laveau, I have come to warn you about a planned assault by the Salem witches."

"You would betray your own coven?"

"It's not my coven anymore, they don't want me."

"Ah – I see," Marie Laveau smiles, her eyes twinkle with amusement. "Just when is this assault going to take place?"

"Tomorrow at the Blood Moon."

Marie Laveau's expression changes. "Marcus!" The man enters and leans down while she whispers urgent orders in his ear. "Hurry now!" she calls after him before turning her attention to Miriam, "Now, what are we going to do about you?"

"Please don't do anything to me, I beg you, I helped you didn't I?'

"Hush now child, I'm not going to do anything to you. I always pay my dues."

Marie Laveau gave her something wrapped in a green silk scarf. Miriam unwrapped it. It was a large candle decorated with primitive, grotesque faces. She dared not ask how it was made but was positive she saw human hair and teeth embedded within the wax. She quickly covered it up.

"Whenever you need my help, you call for me by lighting this candle and letting it burn down. I will come - no matter where, no matter when. Then my debt to you will be repaid."

"Thank you. Does that mean I can go now?"

"One more thing." Marie Laveau wandered over to an antique bureau and rummaged through the drawers. "Ah, here it is." She handed Miriam a card. "He owes me a favour, so tell him Marie sent you."

Miriam read the card, Professor Sydney K Bennett, Oakland Astrological Society. That was it she realised. Astrology was something she could study and learn; she didn't have to possess any powers. Her destiny was in the stars. 

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