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This is the second book in the series between Between Death and Heaven and Child of Destiny. Enjoy!
“I can’t believe you brought me here to be healed by some
wild-haired crazy old lady!” Roy Lestrange complained to his mother as she
pulled him impatiently along.
“I told you, she’s not just some old lady; she’s a witch and
she can make you better.”
“The fact that you believe in witchcraft Ma… I mean this is
1989”, Roy complained even as he followed her through the trees to the
ramshackle house he could see. It looked like it was standing strictly by the
grace of God or maybe some magic the witch was using to hold up her residence.
Roy didn’t get it; if
she had access to all this magic and shit why didn’t she imagine herself a mansion and a fortune?
Why live like an animal in the middle of the bayou with her equally crazy granddaughter?
His mother reached the door, she hesitated, shooting him a
glance tinged with apprehension before extending a hand slowly to knock softly
on it. They shifted from foot to foot, waiting for someone to come to the door.
It was opened by a wizened old woman with a halo of grey hair; she smiled at them in welcome as
if she’d been expecting them…
“Come in”, she said and led the way into her house. Roy was
expecting to see the skulls of babies decorating the mantelpiece, maybe with
snakeskin covering the walls. But no, the furniture was threadbare yet neat. An
aubusson rug, old but well kept lay on the living room floor. The couch was
covered with throw pillows and a crocheted cover. There were outdated pictures
on the wall of men and women dressed in old fashioned clothing. A tantalizing smell of
freshly baked
something emanated from behind the wooden kitchen counter. Roy’s mouth watered,
and he wondered if the witch would offer them something to eat before the day’s
business began.
She led them past the living room however, toward some narrow
stairs. They led up to an attic where all the good stuff was. Animal skulls, and chicken feathers, an altar with
the requisite freaky statue on it. The statue was surrounded by offerings of
rice and tobacco, black coffee and yams, a straw hat and a cane, pennies, palm
oil and roses. This was more like Roy
was expecting.
“What can I do for you?” The witch asked startling Roy with
the soft, compassionate nature
of her tone.
“My Roy is sick Nannane. Could you heal him?” His mother
asked hands clasped and stretched forward in a pleading way.
The witch held out her hand to Roy, and he understood that
she wanted him to put his hand in hers. He was scared though; he didn’t want to do it. With his
mother’s narrowed eyes on him though, he felt he had no choice but to clasp her
hands with his own. She closed her eyes, humming softly under her breath. A
warmth suffused the area where her hands touched his and it slowly began to
permeate the rest of him. He felt his body relax into languid peace while his
eyes closed of their own volition. It was like receiving the gentlest massage
in human history.
“You have the wasting disease", the witch intoned, “What
are they calling it these days… AIDS?”
Roy jumped in shock. Nobody
knew that; nobody said that...not
out loud. His mama
didn’t know, she
couldn’t have told.
How had this witch guessed? He opened his eyes and snatched his hand out of hers, standing
quickly to leave. His mother was watching him; a sad look in her eyes. The
witch’s eyes were serene. She sat watching him, waiting for him to do what he
would.
“How do you know that?” He whispered.
The witch just smiled slightly and held out her hands, “I don’t know if I can heal you;
that is not in my hands. But I can make you feel better,", she said.
Roy just stared at her, “You can’t… tell anyone. You can’t…”,
he stammered.
The witch shook her head, “My work is just as confidential as
any priest… or doctor. You need not worry that anyone will know of your illness
from me.”
“What can you do for me that the doctors can’t?” Roy
demanded.
