Jilo (Witching Savannah #4)(18)

NINE


May was walking north on Ogeechee Road the next morning as the sun’s first rays reached her, a warm and comforting caress that brought to mind the sense of serenity that had descended on her when her own hand brushed that of the odd veiled woman the night before. Her touch had felt like that of an old friend, someone May had never known but had missed her entire life.

No. May knew the creature who’d saved Jilo was not a woman at all. She had seen the illusion of her humanity fall away before her own eyes. If anything, she was a demon. One sent to tempt her into using magic, into breaking the vow she’d made so long ago.

Only once before had she been truly tempted by magic. On that long-ago night, she had gone crawling to her mama’s door, banging on the wood and begging her mama to come out and do something, anything to heal Reuben. The memory still tugged at her.

Her mama had met her at the door. Tried to bring her in. Knelt beside her. Pulled her close to her bosom. But she didn’t waver in her refusal.

“No, baby. You don’t know what you askin’. You don’t know,” she said as she tried to rock May in her arms.

May pushed herself up and shoved her mama away. And as her mama stood, May did something she had never thought she could do. She reached out and struck her own mama. But Mama didn’t fight back. No. She took May’s hand and pressed it to her lips.

“It’s all right,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s all right. But Mama cannot do this thing for you . . . she loves you too much. She loves your Reuben too much.”

With that, she gently pushed May back over her threshold, turning her away. “You go on. You get back to your husband.”

Her trembling hand pressed between May’s shoulders, but as May started to stumble away, her mama’s hand reached out and snatched hers, causing her to look back. “You leave what’s gonna happen up to God,” she said, pointing to the heavens. “You trust God to do what’s right for our Reuben, whether it breaks our hearts or not. Magic, it ain’t what you think, baby. Least not the kind I got. Don’t you ever let it tempt you to force your own will on things.”

May had done as her mama told her. She’d gone home to Reuben; she’d listened to the rattling coughs and gasping breaths that would eventually carry him from this world. Years later, she had buried her mama in the earth, too. Then that white boy had been found before the sun could set on her mama’s grave. May knew her mama had hastened her own death to try and put an end to whoever or whatever had been taking the children. If her mama had succeeded, it would have been almost worthwhile, but it was so hard to bear the knowledge that her mama had died in defeat.

But May didn’t have a choice. She had to bear it. Exhausted from her sleepless night, May barely had enough strength left to put one foot before the other. In the years since May had lost Reuben, she’d nearly worn a groove in this road from making the trek between her home and the Pinnacle Hotel morning and night, six days a week. Tired going, even more tired coming back.

May knew her life was a God-given gift, and she tried to be grateful for each day, but lately she’d found herself talking to her departed Reuben more often, wondering out loud how many more times she’d have to walk this path until she could join him in glory. Well, that reunion would have to wait now. She was burdened by no illusions that Betty would be coming back for those girls.

May trudged down the road toward the cemetery, her heavy steps rousing a black rooster. The bird’s invective startled her, causing her to stop short and catch her breath.

“All right, Lester, all right,” she addressed the bird. “Whole darned world done heard you now.” May shook her head. The thing had shown up around the time of her mama’s death, and it almost seemed like a friend by now. Some folk might think she was crazy, but she always greeted the rooster whenever she passed his home. Not doing so today would only add to the sense of strangeness she seemed incapable of shaking.

May might have believed the whole episode was a dream had she managed to close her eyes for even a wink, but no, she’d had no sleep. There was no choice but to accept that she had witnessed the impossible made real. “See you later, Lester,” she said, still hoping familiar habits could erase the sense of oddity the night had sown in the pit of her stomach.

Last night, she’d picked her way home from the clearing more by instinct than by landmark, Jilo asleep in her arms as they made their way through the night forest. Once home, she had slipped the baby in bed next to Opal, who—despite her worry—had drifted off to sleep with Poppy cuddled in her arms. May herself never even considered trying to sleep. Instead, she stoked the kitchen stove and boiled up some chicory that went cold without her even lifting cup to lip. Then she spent the night bent over her Bible, though the words seemed to dance on the page, imparting none of their usual wisdom or comfort.

Even now, as she passed beneath the steeple of Tremont Nondenominational House of Prayer, the prayer she yearned to offer up—one that combined a supplication for forgiveness for having used magic and a request for guidance—remained inchoate in her breast. She hated it, but anger against God Almighty simmered in her soul. Magic had saved Jilo, not prayer. It terrified her that one of those evil men had managed to slip silently into her home, as if by witchcraft, and steal her grandbaby right out of her bed. A man who could keep his cool as those around him gave in to panic. A man who would arrange the abduction of a tiny child just to lure May out into the night.