by Nash Summers
My mama and I had done this before. Gran never believed in things like communication boards or chanting while she was alive, and she certainly didn’t believe in them in death. Our communication with the lost memory of our family member was quieter, subtler, but it was what we knew. We laced our hands together and thought of Gran, the way she laughed, the way her arms felt when she hugged us tightly. She never spoke to us in words that minds of this world could hear. Her spirit would join us quietly, calmly, and show us things that only we could see with closed eyes.
But as we sat there in silence and the minutes trickled by, I felt nothing. I did not feel the warm embrace of presence, the knowing tickle on the back of my neck. My mother squeezed my hands a little tighter, and I knew she didn’t feel my gran’s presence either.
Then the fine hairs on my arms stood on end, skin chilling, goose bumps rising. A twinge of pain came deep in my gut. It was nothing but a feeling that blossomed deep within and quickly spread to my heart and mind. I tried to open my eyes, but found my eyelids impossibly heavy, almost tacky.
The tightening feeling in my stomach strengthened.
And then the screaming began.
Was it my mama screaming? My gran? The decrepit woman from the swamp? Or was it me? I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t even hear the screaming, but I knew it was there.
“Levi!”
My eyelids shot open.
Mama sat across from me at the table, her thin fingers tightly gripping my forearms, her pale eyes staring at the space beyond my left ear. Ward leaned over my side, his dark eyes more troubled than usual.
“Something is clinging to you, Levi,” Mama said. “Something dark and otherworldly.”
“I know. It feels like a sickness burning in my belly.”
“Its presence is stronger than your gran’s. I couldn’t even sense her here.”
I didn’t want to think about why. There hadn’t been a single time in life or death that my gran had not come to me when I needed her.
Except now.
“You are shaking,” Ward said.
“Make protection mojo bags,” Mama said. “Take them with you everywhere. I’ll ask around, maybe go see Miss Annamae. You can’t live like this, but I don’t know what to do. This is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before.”
Her voice softened. “I know how you’re feeling, Levi. I’ve met men like him before. None with souls like his, and none with as bad of a reputation. But men who you know are bad for you. Men you can’t seem to stay away from. He will break your heart whether he means to or not.”
“I would never let him.”
Mama smiled sadly, her expression grim. Her clouded eyes pointed down toward the table. I swallowed hard, wishing she could look into my eyes and know I meant it.
“Oh, Levi. Matters of the heart ain’t up to you. They ain’t up to anyone. You can’t help what you love—who you want—but you can help who you go near. That man will bring nothing but trouble.”
I stood to leave. “I know, Mama. I know.”
“For the sake of your soul, Levi,” Mama said. “Stay away from Monroe Poirier.”
THE OBSIDIAN stone glistened between my fingertips. Its sharp edges pressed into the soft flesh of my fingers as I held it up to my bedroom window, allowing the light from outside to reflect off its shining surface.
“Do you have everything you need, Levi?” Ward asked from where he stood behind me, leaning against a wall.
“Yes.”
Eight small red satchels lay on the wooden floorboards. It had taken me five days to gather all the things I needed to make protection bags. I’d visited Miss Annamae’s store twice, waiting for new supplies to come in.
These mojo bags were for protection. Most practitioners had their own unique way of making and preparing mojo bags. Me, Mama, and Gran all used the same materials. The charms we used, the material of the bags, the stones, all had been taught to my mama and me by Gran, who’d learned it from her gran.
“The world isn’t filled with those who see things the way we do, Levi,” Gran had told me the first time she’d shown me a mojo bag. “So we must trust what is tried and true. This is a protection mojo bag. It will help to dispel evil. Make sure to keep it hidden, and never let anyone else touch it.”
We had sat together on the floor in the living room, and she’d opened her spell book to a page with small, hand-drawn pictures of mojo bags. I remembered running my fingers against the pages, feeling the age of the paper beneath my skin.
“This will be your book one day. It’s been passed down through generations, starting with my gran’s granddaddy. But you mustn’t show it to anyone else, Levi. Most people don’t understand our ways, our customs. Our gifts have been in the Bell bloodline for years. Other people won’t understand.”
I sat on my bedroom floor with my legs crossed and small piles of stones and charms and herbal mixtures. Having done this many times before, I no longer needed my gran’s spell book to know the exact way to prepare a mojo bag. I picked up a red bag and placed one of my tiny, rough stones into the bag. One by one I filled them with obsidian and amber stones, mixtures of mistletoe, white sage, bay leaves, thistle, and anise. Lastly, in each bag was a small lock of my hair.
“Why have you made so many?” Ward asked.
I ignored him. After a few moments of silence, he said, “Levi.”
“He saved me from drowning myself in the swamp, Ward. If nothing else, I wouldn’t mind a bit of extra protection while I’m near that house. It could just as easily happen again.”
Why did it feel like I was making excuses?
“You know this is a bad idea. Think of what Alta said. She is rarely wrong when she has a bad feeling. You should trust her on this matter, not your heart,” he said.
“When have I ever listened to my heart, Ward?”
He said nothing. When I turned he was already gone.
NOT MANY things look as frightening in the daylight as they do in the evening. The Poirier house is one of the few things that does. The daylight showcases its rotten wooden beams, its chipped paint, and its holey curtains on the second-story windows.
As I approached the house, a feeling of dread began to trickle into my senses. It was something I was going to have to steel myself against. I was stronger than whatever evil had decided I was worth paying attention to.
Clutching my bag that hung on my shoulder, I walked up to Monroe’s house. Ward had been right—I knew this was a bad idea. Yet, I couldn’t find myself even considering not doing it. I wasn’t sure if it was for Monroe’s sake or my own.
A few feet from the front porch, I stopped dead in my tracks. The front door opened and a very familiar person trotted down the stairs.
Saddie stopped when she saw me, a rosy blush covering her cheeks and neck. Her work uniform top hung half off one shoulder, and one of her sneakers was unlaced. Hair stood in matted tufts from the side of her head, and her makeup was smudged around her bright eyes. In her arms she carried a crumpled-up jacket and her new purse that she’d bought down at the main store just two days ago.
“Levi.” She forced a smile.
I forced one back. “Saddie.”
“What are you doing here?” She shifted her weight from foot to foot. It was something I knew her to do when she was uncomfortable.
“I was dropping something off. I should’ve called.” I took a step backward.
The front door swung open with a bang. It hit the wooden railing on the porch.
The devil himself stepped out onto the landing. He wore nothing but a faded pair of unbuttoned denim jeans.
“You forgot your—” Monroe stopped abruptly the moment his eyes found me. An odd expression crossed his face. His eyes blazed.
“I should go,” I said, turning. Whatever happened between Monroe and Saddie was none of my business. Hell, I didn’t even like Monroe. Being near him made my stomach ache and my chest burn.
Footsteps sounded behind me as he stomped down the
stairs. He grabbed my arm, spun me around.
“Levi, wait.” He sounded breathless. Saddie looked at us, and I didn’t want to think of why Monroe Poirier was breathless.
“I shouldn’t have come.” I looked up into his pale eyes and immediately regretted it. I shouldn’t be looking at a man like that when my only friend had just spent the night with him. The thought of that, for some reason, soured my stomach.
“Saddie was leaving,” he said.
“It’s not Saddie I’m walking away from.”
Monroe dropped his hand from my arm as he reached up and ran his hands through his hair. It was then I noticed how close he was standing, how his bare chest was decorated with line after line of scars. They ran over his wide, muscular chest, the muscles along his sides that were more pronounced with his arms above his head.
I snapped my gaze away.
“It’s all right, Levi.” Saddie walked up to me and put her hand on my shoulder. “I was just leaving, and I’m guessing you wouldn’t come here on a social call. You should stay.”
I thought of the bag that hung on my shoulder and what was inside of it. I looked over at Monroe. “I’ll see you later at the diner?” I asked her.
Saddie smiled. “Of course. You can close for me tonight. I have a killer hangover.”
She turned and walked down the dirt path that would take her back to the other edge of town. I watched her back for a few moments while I tried to think of what to say to Monroe.
“Do you want to come in?” he asked.
“Want is a strong word.”
His expression darkened, and his frown deepened. “You say the sweetest things, Levi.”
“I didn’t come over to braid friendship bracelets with you, Monroe.”
“Well, then,” he said as he took another step toward me. He was too close. The scars on his skin glistened in the sunlight. “Tell me why you are here.”
I looked toward the ground momentarily, then back up at him. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, I want to come inside.”
“All right. But it’s hotter than the inside of an engine in there, and I don’t have anything to drink but water and cheap Bourbon.”
“Well, forget it, then. I really only came over for lemonade.”
Despite his sour expression, the corner of his lips twitched. I tried my best to keep my glower in place, but the challenge in his eyes forced a smile from me. He turned without saying anything, and I followed him inside.
Monroe hadn’t been exaggerating—the inside of the Poirier house was hot. The second I walked into the front entryway, I collided with a wall of thick heat. “Why’s it so hot in here?”
He shrugged. I could already feel beads of sweat dripping down the back of my neck. I set my bag down on a chair in the living room. The inside of the house looked different already. Some of the walls had been reboarded and even had a picture or two hanging from them. There was a large rug in the center of the room that hadn’t been there before, and a new table next to the couch, with ornate legs and a floral flourish carved into the side.
The sound of small feet against the floor caught my attention. Coin stared up at me with big, blue eyes, pink tongue hanging out, and tail wagging. I smiled as I reached down and scratched behind his ear.
Monroe walked up to me. He’d pulled on a white T-shirt. I couldn’t help it when my eyes sank to the deep V on the front of it.
“So,” he said as he watched my face. “Want to tell me why you stopped by?”
“About that,” I said. “I shouldn’t have just come over. The thought that you might have someone over never even crossed my mind.”
He pursed his lips, obviously unhappy talking about this. “It’s all right,” he said. “You can stop by any time you want.”
I walked over to the fireplace and picked up a black-and-white framed picture. It was Monroe—younger—standing next to a car. His arms were folded across his thick chest, and he was grinning wide at the camera.
“Be nice to Saddie,” I said. “She’s a sweet girl.”
Monroe sighed. “Shit, Levi. It ain’t even like that.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“It was just the one time. It’ll only ever be the one time.”
I bristled. I wanted to turn around and tell him he could sleep with whomever he wanted—that it was none of my business and I didn’t want, or need, an explanation. I had no idea why Monroe Poirier was suddenly the one person in the universe I wanted to argue with the most. “She’s a good person, and she wears her heart on her sleeve. Besides that, she’s my friend, and I don’t want to see her get hurt.”
“She’s a big girl, Levi.”
“I don’t want her to have her heart broken.”
Monroe’s mouth fell into a lopsided grin. “What makes you think it’s not my heart that’s gonna get broken?”
I threw my hands up in the air. “Forget it.”
“Already forgotten.” His grin grew.
I walked over to the chair with my bag on it. Shrugging off the small cardigan I wore over my too-large tank top, I tossed it over the back of the chair. I opened the side of the pouch and pulled out an elastic band. My hair was barely long enough, but I managed to pull it back from my face and fasten it. I then bent over and rolled up the hems of my pants until they were just below my knee.
When I faced Monroe, I said, “Now sit down on the sofa and close your eyes.”
He made a choking noise. “What?”
I put my hands on my hips. “Sit down and shut up. And don’t peek.”
He moved backward, never taking his eyes off me, then flopped down on the sofa and spread his long arms across the back of it. After another skeptical look, he closed his eyes. Coin jumped up on the sofa and lay down on his lap.
When I was sure he was no longer watching me through his lashes, I slung my bag back over my shoulder. Monroe said nothing as I padded off down the hallway, wandering in and out of the rooms on his main floor.
I hid one of the hoodoo bags in the back of the pantry behind an ancient rolling pin with more layers of dust than I had layers of skin. Another I hid on the top of the doorframe to the back door.
When it was time to climb to the second story, I found myself clutching the staircase railing. There was something unsettling about the long, dark shadows the trees from the swamp cast against the wooden walls and floorboards through the windows. The glass was foggy and old, cracked in some places. Dreary curtains hung lifelessly around a window at the top of the staircase. Unable to help myself as I walked past, I glanced outside at the swamp. Its gray, murky waters remained still, as though they were made of glass.
I forced myself away from the window, away from the view of the swamp, and down the narrow hallway. The upper level of the house was less finished than the bottom. There were no decorations and little furniture. Dust danced in the empty room to the right. The fragrance of fresh soap and disinfectant filled the room to the left.
At the end of the hallway, a door sat open. I walked to it, peered inside. A simple wooden bed frame sat pressed against the far wall. A large wardrobe in the corner. A large stack of books in the center of the floor. Car magazines and books as thick as encyclopedias with pictures of cars on the covers.
I knelt next to Monroe’s bed. For some reason the action made me frown. Hiding hoodoo bags around Monroe’s house was clinical. And yet, crouching next to his bed, looking at the rumpled sheets that he and Saddie had likely been in minutes ago….
The small bag felt electric in my hand. I lifted the corner of the mattress and shoved it underneath, then left the room swiftly and walked back down the hallway. I forced myself not to think about the sheets on Monroe Poirier’s bed.
He was just how I’d left him, eyes closed, relaxed, legs spread as he leaned back on the sofa. Coin found his stuffed toy in the corner of the room more entertaining now. It squeaked as he gnawed on it.
“I’m finished,” I said.
&nbs
p; Monroe opened his eyes. Again, there was that flicker. It was golden, but not in color. Something in his eyes—something about his soul—so badly wanted to shine.
When he stood he reached out and brushed against my neck. I fought against the racing of my heart. Hearts were liars. Hearts couldn’t be trusted, especially not when men like Monroe Poirier were around.
“You have dust on your skin,” he said quietly, looking me over.
“You have dust in your house.”
“It’s an old house. Are you gonna tell me what you were doing?”
“No.”
Something caught his eye. He reached his hand up and gently flicked one of the small hoops in my ear.
“You have golden hoops all up your ear.” He wasn’t talking to me. He was talking to himself as though I was but a figment presented before him.
His gaze traveled from my ear, down my neck, to the amulet I wore. When he reached out and touched it, something lit inside me. I wanted to shove him away. I wanted him to tangle the necklace around his hand until it bit into my skin, and pull me closer by my chain.
When our eyes met, he looked like he’d been thinking the same thing.
I stepped back and his hand fell.
He sighed heavily, his large shoulders slouching. He looked like a defeated man. He was a defeated man. “I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that,” he said.
“Will you tell me about your family?” I had no right to ask, but I asked anyway.
Monroe motioned for me to sit on the sofa. He took the seat on the other end but turned toward me. I could tell by the expression on his face that this was the last thing he wanted to be doing right now—telling me about his family. Yet he did so anyway.
“I was born a county over,” he said, “but we came to live here when I was just a kid. It was me and my mama most of the time. The old man was never around. Mama always made up excuses for him. I didn’t believe her. Looking back now, I wish I had pretended to believe them, for her sake.”
He leaned forward, put his elbows on his knees. “I saw her lying there, blood all over. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open. I knew she was dead the moment I saw her.
