Shadow of the Conjurer

Shadow of The Conjurer The Antebellum South Intersects the Present in a Gothic Supernatural Fantasy of Love and Redemption

-Steve GierhartThe McNallys reside in the same house but live separate lives. Jared, an engineer, is emotionally distant. Melissa, an intellectual property lawyer, pursues an affair to fill the void left by her husband. Whether their bankrupt relationship can be healed rests in events that start in a rundown slave cemetery on their property in the Appalachian foothills of North Alabama. The unmarked grave of a slave leads them to a journal, a journal not of facts but of emotion. It is a diary from the 1830s of a young man whose father, Jeremiah Thompson, was a cotton king, the owner of the plantation ‘Fiery Hill’ upon which the McNally home was built. Odd occurrence builds to mystery, then to a terrible realization that they are the target of something that should have remained in the ground as the journal reveals the secret of Jeremiah’s son, Jacob. “I saw Nika for the first time at the auction to which my father brought me,” Jacob’s diary paints sorrowfully with regret. “She was beautiful, dark skinned, ebony eyed, and 11 years old. And I was only 12. Now six years later, anyone can see she has bewitched me...I cannot admit to my emotions or my intents, especially to my family but also to my friends, the only ones I have, and they are my father’s property.” The McNallys’ decisions impact not only the direction of their relationship, but also this forbidden love from the past. Regardless, all paths to answers in Shadow of The Conjurer lead through a surprising source, an enigmatic West African legend borne in the tribal myths of the Mande.

Shadow of The Conjurer

Visit Steve Gierhart’s Author Page at www.ArdentWriterPress.com

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Shadow of The Conjurer

Shadow of The Conjurer The Antebellum South Intersects the Present in a Gothic Supernatural Fantasy of Love and Redemption

-Steve Gierhart-

The Ardent Writer Press, LLC Brownsboro, Alabama iii

Shadow of The Conjurer

Copyright © 2012 by Steve Gierhart Permission is granted to copy, reprint, or use portions for any noncommercial use, except they may not be posted online without permission if quotations exceed a total of over five hundred (500) words. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention. Jacket image by Jennifer Gierhart Jones, Edmond, Oklahoma and is covered by the same grant for noncommercial use noted above. The Ardent Writer Press logo is also covered under the same grant for commercial use. ISBN 978-1-938667-01-5 Library of Congress Control Number: 2012910683 Library of Congress subject headings: Magic – Fiction. Fantasy fiction, American. Gothic fiction (Literary genre), American Supernatural Fiction. Supernatural--Folklore. Interracial friendship--Fiction. Slavery--Alabama--Fiction. Geographical myths--Fiction. Spiritual healing--Fiction. Man-Woman relationships--Fiction. First Edition

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Shadow of The Conjurer

To Lew Dale Gierhart He didn’t say a lot. He didn’t need to.

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Shadow of The Conjurer

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Shadow of The Conjurer

Contents – Shadow of The Conjurer Acknowledgments Prologue - Shadow of The Conjurer The Village of Mande Faro - Niger, Africa (A.D. 1830) Page 4

PART I - “Haud Pacis Pro McNallys” 21st Century Alabama Page 7

PART II - “Inlusione Pacem” North Alabama (A.D. 1831 - 1837) Page 71

PART III - “Intersectio” 21st Century Alabama Page 247

Epilogues Page 369

Author's Note Page 377

About the Author Page 379 vii

Acknowledgments

Shadow of The Conjurer

Acknowledgments My wife, Bonny, and I live on a small acreage in North Alabama near the vibrant city of Huntsville. It lies at the foothills of the Appalachians, just as in my novel, Shadow of The Conjurer. However, very interesting to me (and I hope to you) is the fact that our home is built on the heart of an old plantation whose descendents, both black and white, still live in the area. I have had the pleasure of meeting members of both groups. They have a remarkable respect for their mutual history. Despite the sadder aspects of its cultural and historical roots, that respect reflects the families’ ability to move on, especially as time reveals our nation has been made stronger by change, sometimes long in coming. Importantly for me, I like to think that respect has survived because all of us in our human frailty are also strong in our ability to love and to forgive. While Bonny and I cannot share their olden history, the fact and daily reminders of their existence brings us closer in a kind of familial way, much like the protagonists in my novel. We thank them for their warm embrace. Shadow of The Conjurer is at its heart a gothic fantasy, but it is also a love story. My daughter, Stephanie, caused me to ponder that ‘rich brocade’ before I started putting ‘pen to paper’ (or computer key to finger if you like). She accurately pointed out that a supernatural story about a fictional romance between the son of plantation owner and a slave girl would not only require an accurate historical background, but that background would be rooted both in America and Africa. So I researched as I outlined. Read more before I wrote. Consequently, though numerous internet and library sources were studied, a handful of books were especially helpful. To bring about a more complex story I read into the legends of the Mande (the tribe from whom the Conjurer’s slave girl, Nika, is taken). The Mande, or Mandingo as popularly recounted, are a large group of West African people (as well as a term relating to the region and language) encompassing several related tribes such as the Malinke, the 1

Acknowledgments Dogon, and the Bambara. Despite Islam’s deep inroads starting in the twelfth century, their mythology has survived, still substantial, still robust. I want to acknowledge Yves Bonnefoy’s American, African, and Old European Mythologies, a wonderful and detailed compilation of these and other myths and legends around the world. Though it is an academic work, its background was lovingly compiled from a number of sources and written so a layman can understand its abundance. To appreciate and fashion a more realistic portrayal of slave life on a cotton plantation in 1830s Alabama, I drew heavily from the following two source materials, John W. Blassingame’s The Slave Community, Plantation Life in the Antebellum South, and T. Lindsay and Julie P. Baker’s compilation, The WPA Oklahoma Slave Narratives. Blassingame’s work has gained widespread acknowledgment as pioneering the study of slave life in the South, especially so because it describes such from the slave’s perspective. I deeply desired a realistic and empathetic brush of their life for the reader. If I have done that, I must credit Dr. Blassingame’s remarkable and vivid work. From 1935 to 1939 Franklin Roosevelt’s administration sponsored The Federal Writer’s Project (FWP). Though its driving force was employment (it was the Depression), the effort employed thousands of writers, editors, historians, and researchers in an honorable effort to not only foment cultural awareness, but to especially capture the plight of the socially deprived. One of the most meritorious of their efforts was the Slave Narratives. Field workers for the FWP took word-for-word transcripts of the narratives of individual Americans who were slaves as by 1930 survivors of that era were living out their last years. In many cases the transcripts were based on actual sound recordings. The individual transcripts selected by the Bakers from FDR’s ground-breaking and historysaving work reflect the daily applications and tone of slave lives, revealing linguistics, thought, and action that would otherwise have been lost to history. I took an unusual step during my writing. I wanted to clearly present the chasm in cultures and language between the plantation owner’s son, Jacob, and the newly servile Africans. On the internet I found a Mande translator that was written in approximately 1837 by an English Methodist missionary and scholar, the Reverend R. Maxwell Macbrair. He had other works printed between 1839 and 1863. Though I tried to substantiate the accuracy in Rev. Macbrair’s translation, I was unsuccessful. Nevertheless, I used his pamphlet as well as some of the translations of Professor Bonnefoy (his compilation translated under the direction of Dr. Wendy Doniger, University of Chicago) to articulate a kind of conversation in Mande with English translations included. I also used Rev. Macbrair’s translation to select the name of the slave girl, Nika, who falls in love with Jacob. 2

Shadow of The Conjurer Finally, I want to thank my family for supporting me during the time it took to write and edit the novel. Special thanks should be given to my daughter, Jennifer Jones, a design graphics artist, for lending her artistic talents to the jacket cover. Another daughter, Erin, offered a drawing of one of the scenes which is on my author’s page at www.ArdentWriterPress.com. I also want to thank my wife, Bonny, who spent some torturous time reading my unedited story as well as other family members who read my story and offered comments. Though next time I will spend more time on the edits before handing it to Bonny, her feedback was especially helpful in the editing process. So to Life and to Love is this book dedicated, whether Family, Friend, Spouse, or Lover. May you all feel Welcome as you read Shadow of The Conjurer.

Regards, Steve Gierhart

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Prologue – Shadow of The Conjurer

Prologue – Shadow of The Conjurer A.D. 1830 - Niger, Africa - The Sub Saharan Despite being caged by the sounds and screams of pain and outrage surrounding the little village of Mande Faro, Jikindi had courage from the old traditions. The old woman’s dark eyes surveyed the scene. She reached around her fat thighs and tore off the loose material of her skirt loincloth, the nagba in Mande, the language of the Malinke or Mandingo people. She looked quickly for the easiest route of escape, knowing she had little time to react. Too much was at stake. Only her favorite grandchild, Nika, could be helped. Sadly, leaving the rest of Jikindi’s family to fend for themselves was not a path the old woman would have chosen in any other situation. Hunkering down in an awkward squat, she held Nika’s face in a firm grip, turning the young girl’s eyes to her own. “Granddaughter, we must save ourselves,” said Jikindi. The young girl whimpered softly, and Jikindi let her momentarily rest on her shoulder. “We cannot afford to be afraid, my Nika.” In quick staccato words Jikindi calmed her ten-year-old granddaughter. “Do what I tell you. Listen carefully to me and nothing else.” Nika nodded, drying her eyes with a fast swipe of her hand. “We must not attract attention. But if we do, run toward the jungle away from the river. Do you understand? Away from the river.” “Yes, my mamaw. Away from the river.” Jikindi’s face leaned into Nika’s. “I am fat and old. You are young and fast. If I fall, if I falter, run as fast as your young legs will carry you. Do not wait for me.” Nika’s eyes arched in concern. She shook her head, knowing she could not do that. Could not be alone. Her grandmother taught her everything. 4

Shadow of The Conjurer Jikindi bit her lip. Then she slapped the young girl sharply, something she had never done. She shook her finger and raised her voice in desperation. “You know everything that you can know. You will survive. My spirit will not allow you to die…to be alone!” The girl started to cry again, but the old woman wiped her eyes herself this time. “I love you, Nika. You will survive.” Nika nodded. Jikindi looked out the window of the hut. “Let us run like the antelope that escapes the hyenas. Stay close.” Jikindi and Nika emerged from the mud and straw-thatched hut. The village was dotted with buildings that looked like the tops of Chinese rockets stuck in the ground, the thatch woven tightly at the top of the circular buildings, mud applied directly to the woven tree branches of their sides. Some of the huts were on fire. Smoke was everywhere, blurring directions and making breathing difficult. Jikindi hugged the side of the hut and dashed quickly to the next structure a good forty feet away, her granddaughter grabbing her left arm, Jikindi’s right arm bracing her body against the hot dried mud. Around them people raced in groups of two or three, usually a mother with children or a single male or female, sometimes an elder. In almost all cases, the children were crying, or the elderly were wailing. Nika hugged her grandmother tighter in fear. Jikindi forced the little girl’s arm away and began running again. She plowed through thick smoke. They coughed uncomfortably, the sweat of their bodies now combining with the thick smoke to dribble darkly in streaks down their faces, arms, and thighs. Jikindi and Nika slowly worked their way toward the village edge. They stopped near a burning hut. Their heads were drawn to the smoky room where streaks of sun fell through a roof made patchy by fire. The back of an adult man, approximately fifty and painted gray by soot, was exposed. His grunts played in the air along with the smoke. But only for a moment. The man turned as if he knew who was behind him. The spin to his audience was slow and deliberate. Jikindi and Nika first saw his jaw outlined by the yellow and black of decaying teeth. Then the eyes, the white of the first, the right eye, standing out in stark contrast to the lines of blood zigzagging through the sclera and the iris. He was mad. And he was thrilled in recognition of his madness. The man held a small child in his partially outstretched hands. It was a girl, maybe three years old. The hands were around the girl’s neck, squeezing the last drop of life, the mouth grunting satisfaction in his deadly chore. Nika screamed and grabbed her grandmother’s legs. 5

Prologue – Shadow of The Conjurer Jikindi shrieked at the ghoulish man. “Baaku, your granddaughter! No!” The man’s eyes widened. “She is mine to take! Not theirs. Suffering at the call of Allah? Bah! Maybe these cattle; but you, Jikindi, you should know that we do not bow to anyone other than Mangala and the twins.” Baaku Bandeh’s eyes switched to the dead girl’s neck as he squeezed a last time and dropped the body to the dusty floor of the hut. The corpse splayed in unwelcome acknowledgment of vitality’s extinction, landing cross-legged in contact with the dirt before slowly slouching to the side, the small head thumping to the floor, but with wideeyed shock at the end. The killer raised his hand toward Jikindi and Nika, grinning in mirth. “I come to you next, Nika. Jikindi will not stop me. She prefers the finality of her brother Malinke to these slavers of Allah!”

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Shadow of The Conjurer

PART I “Haud Pacis Pro McNallys” Modern Day Alabama

The McNally Home in Brownsboro Huntsville and Redstone Arsenal

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Character Index – 21st Century Alabama

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Shadow of The Conjurer

Character Index – 21st Century Alabama In order of appearance

Major Characters Jared McNally – Husband of Melissa McNally, 37, blond-haired and an engineer by trade. He works for the U.S. Army Aviation and Missile Command near Huntsville, Alabama in the Multi-Role Radar Project Office or MR2 as it is better known. He and Melissa’s marriage is severely strained at the beginning of the book. Jared is unaware Melissa is having an affair with a man he works with, Blaine Harvey. Jared and Blaine have a stormy relationship at the office. Jared and Melissa live on the site of an old plantation in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. Melissa McNally – Wife of Jared McNally, 34, auburn-haired and an intellectual property lawyer for the U.S. Army Aviation and Missile Command’s Legal Office. Her marriage with Jared is on the rocks as she secretly conducts an affair with Jared’s bitter enemy, Blaine Harvey. Blaine Harvey – Melissa McNally’s illicit lover, 40ish, arrogant and cocky. An engineer at the U.S. Army Aviation and Missile Command where he remains at odds with Jared McNally.

Mid-Major Characters Dillon Faraday – Melissa McNally’s father seen in a flashback with Melissa at age 8, attending the fair in Huntsville, Alabama. Connor – Jared and Melissa’s male golden retriever. Howler (or Howie as Melissa prefers to call him) and Iris – Jared and Melissa’s two cats. Emma Anderson – A descendent of the original owners of the land on which Jared and Melissa’s home is built. After a series of strange events, Jared and Melissa are led to her for information that will help them solve the mysteries that are the crux of the story. 9

Character Index – 21st Century Alabama

Character Index – 21st Century Alabama In order of appearance (continued)

Minor Characters Adam and Evan Ansley – Father and son characters in opening scene introducing Jared McNally. Adam is a member of Jared’s remote controlled plane club. Dr. Sam Rayburn – A history professor at the University of Huntsville. Mentioned as the source of local history who leads Jared and Melissa to Emma Anderson, descendent of Jeremiah Thompson, the original owner of the property on which Jared and Melissa’s home is built.

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CHAPTER ONE “I once knew she loved me, but then I didn’t.” Jared McNally’s thought was like an old book on a dusty shelf, rarely examined, but simply noted in passing. When it was handled, it was reflected outward like a shimmering mirror on an island of discontent. Jared prided his stubborn ability to continue. It was, after all, not his responsibility to fix. He took care of continuing as his side of the bargain and suitably forgot the original goals in his life with Melissa, his wife. Jared’s lapse into irritation with his inconvenient accommodation dissolved with the immediacy of flying his model aircraft, a four-foot imitation of the vintage P47 Thunderbolt, a fighter from World War II. Jared had several remote controlled aircraft. However, he preferred the Thunderbolt, having flown and rebuilt the plane several times. Crashes were unavoidable, but with knowledge and experience the damage was usually mitigated by the flyer. Jared sought the high in seeing an attractive work of art born from a pile of balsa wood, fiber glass, paint and glue, the small engine whining in contentment when wedded to the brilliant colors and festoons of the fuselage and wings. Like the beautiful and structured dance of a male bird courting a ladylove, the flights of Jared’s iridescent and capering beauties both excited and relaxed his soul. It could be said that building and flying such aircraft was his escape from the hubbub and politics of his job. It could also be said it was escape from dealing with the reality of home. Jared McNally was a supervisory radar engineer at the U.S. Army’s MultiRole Radar Project Office, naturally fit without trying very hard, blonde hair tapered and layered of medium length. He was an aloof and controlled man, but able to convey initiative and quiet capability at work. MR2, as it was known in Army circles, was located on Redstone Arsenal in Huntsville, Alabama along with a multitude of other high technology programs and agencies, such as NASA’s Marshall Spaceflight Center. Jared’s 11

CHAPTER ONE career in Huntsville spanned over fifteen years. He was thirty-seven; and it was through his job that he met Melissa, who was an intellectual property lawyer for the Army Aviation and Missile Command. Jared handled the controls as if the audience behind him was invisible and soundless. He smoothly handled the takeoff, rolls, and turns of the aircraft, the slight changes in control of the radio application nearly imperceptible. His heart rate was a soft sixty beats a minute, leaving behind one hundred twenty that followed an argument with Melissa. A slight smile balanced out his concentration as his fingers lightly moved the controls to start another turn. Jared’s peace was broken by the crash of the safety fence separating the parking lot from the well-maintained Arsenal airfield. Two young men staggered from the collision, their car’s hood wearing the curled fence like a kilt. Jared’s plane took the momentary lapse as an unprepared lover takes a ‘Dear John’ letter. It nose dived to the manicured field, splintering into a hundred pieces. Jared cursed and threw the transmitter to the ground in disgust. Then he wheeled to storm the car and its unwary occupants. Jared reached the teenagers as they began removing the fence from their car’s grill. He approached the situation incautiously, dealing the fire in his anger with high octane and rasping the boys’ embarrassment coarsely. He grabbed the arm of the nearest youth, a spindly sandy-headed kid with freckles, and spun him around, the kid’s left hand still locked in the chain links surrounding the Geo. “What the hell do you boys think you’re doing? That P47 took me weeks to put together. All that’s left is matchsticks.” The teenager was understandably agitated; but in trying to sort through his agitation and his misunderstanding, the boy’s eyes cleared long enough to register surprise. “Huh? Seriously, we didn’t mean it. I accidentally hit the gas, but I thought it was in park.” About that time the parents and the crowd reached the kids. Jared’s need for quick gratification brought a turn of attention to Adam Ansley, the father of the driver. “Did you see what happened? That was a wipe out. My plane’s a mess. I have five hundred bucks in that model and that doesn’t touch the hours I invested.” “Give me a moment to talk to Evan. I’ll take care of it, Jared.” McNally saw the concern in Adam’s eyes and decided to flush his own fuming since the magic words ‘I’ll take care of it’ were voiced. He moved a small distance away, enough to show consideration, but not so much as to convey the issue was resolved. He placed hands on hips and waited impatiently, his blood pressure spiking again. The respite gave his 12

Shadow of The Conjurer mind freedom to count the ways this day went wrong, starting with his argument with Melissa. After talking to his son, Adam stuck his hands in his coat and walked back. He struggled to find the words he hoped would sooth his fellow affiliate. “Jared, Evan is really sorry, and…” Jared McNally wanted blood and gave no quarter. “Sorry? I just want to know how I’m going to replace my Thunderbolt, Adam. Sorry doesn’t cut it.” Ansley bit his lip. “Jared, you didn’t let me finish. Are you going to shut up long enough to let me explain how we can make this well?” After a tangible moment Jared nodded in agreement, but began the stare of judgment. He spoke not a word, his anxiety a badge of honor to the victim he felt he was. Ansley waited for McNally calm while Jared felt Melissa was somehow responsible. He needed his wits to combat these soldiers taking up her cause in some satanic twist of fate. “Look, Evan is a great kid,” said Adam. “If he said it was an accident, it was. But because he is a great kid, he offered to pay you out of his own pocket. I won’t be helping him. He’ll use some money he was saving for a summer trip.” The internal McNally was appeased, but the victim McNally felt he was required something beyond money. “How is that going to take care of the time I spent on the model? That model was my joy.” Ansley shook his head, partly in annoyance, but partly because he thought McNally did not understand. “Evan will pay for it himself, and he’ll help you with the plane.” McNally did not budge. His displeasure waited to be painted on canvas in hot colors of emotion, not punctured and deflated like so much air in a balloon. “Evan doesn’t know anything about model aircraft. It will look like a flying log of shit.” Ansley’s face appeared to puff and mottle irately. A slight sheen of perspiration leached from his brow. He swallowed hard and in a controlled voice said, “If I did what I am thinking, the only flying turd would be Jared McNally. I’m going to lend a hand to my son. See me later. I’ll help you, or I’ll repair it. That will give me a chance to guilt Evan into learning my hobby.” Jared’s antagonism was diffused with the measured response of his friend. He watched as Ansley walked the hundred feet to the small rise where the boys moved the posts from the Geo, scarred as if it was a bright colored beetle pinned down by a gigantic entomologist. Adam turned for a moment to seemingly assess the sanity of his friend. McNally waved, an acknowledgment to his buddy that the sane Jared was back. 13

CHAPTER ONE With the return of his good sense, McNally bit his lip in mortification. The temporary shame was helpful in that it turned his thought inward which was often difficult. Like many, Jared sometimes preferred to blame others, including Melissa. It was with more than humiliation that Jared grasped his temper and isolation were part of the problem. McNally admitted that he wanted Melissa to fix her problems, but he would be more successful if he improved to begin with. For now, he had to apologize to Adam.

A

preoccupied Melissa McNally laid down her drink of Jack Daniels and coke, absent-mindedly reaching for her skirt that lay haphazardly over the arm of the cheap armchair in the cheap hotel. The air was musty and wet from the humid moisture pumping from the window stoop’s loud air conditioner, a strong tobacco smell perjuring the ‘no smoking’ sign in the corner. This was a likely dot on the landscape for Melissa’s affair, a stereotype hotel for sexual attachments and people without direction. Though the hotel’s façade was acceptably adorned with pleasantries of folksy hellos along the busy Memorial Parkway, its service road in the rear held little traffic to eye her gray Audi whose headlights faced the road, waiting for a quick escape. It was mid-afternoon on a weekend; and many Huntsville residents were watching Alabama play Southern Mississippi on a Sunday afternoon hardwood basketball court, a proper and responsible event for after-church families eating fried chicken and exchanging the latest gossip of Billy or Megan Sue. Melissa slid the bright skirt over her slip and smoothed away the wrinkles. Tossing her hair behind her shoulders, she turned her face to look for the tell tale sheen of perspiration, a bit of powder placed sparingly for correction. She applied her blush to the apples of her cheeks and followed with a dab of lip-gloss, finishing with a brush of powder over her smooth complexion. A touch here. A caress there. Even after 34 years, make up played only a supporting role in enhancing her natural beauty. She had a small petite frame, skin a lovely pale color. Her hair was not red, but in the right light might appear so, her elongated curls flashing a hint of fire. She had an almond-shaped face with slanting blue eyes, not Asian per se, as she was pure Irish in form and background. Her mirrored face reflected satisfaction with the touchup as she picked up the hairbrush, the result a youthful Jane Seymour appearance of clear skin and elegance coupled with the windblown glow of a 1940s Maureen O’Hara. Her lover, Blaine Harvey, remained unhurried, folding his hands behind his head. He was clean looking, a robust man of forty who remained twenty at heart. Blaine tried marriage and failed, not because he did not like marriage, but simply because he was not good at it. Blaine felt too many relationships were stamped modern, women grandstanding 14

Shadow of The Conjurer their ball-busting ‘reality show’ personalities swathed in alleged injustice from alleged egocentric boyfriends. That being said, Blaine loved women, especially Melissa, as he had the double satisfaction of a married woman with distance, as well as doing it with the wife of a man he despised. Blaine and Jared had worked together in the past. Their styles were different; but more importantly, they failed to play nice in the sand box. Blaine smiled as he gazed at the ceiling. “You think Jared knows anything yet?” Melissa stopped in mid-stroke, turning her ire to Blaine. “Why mention Jared? We have some time together, and you seem bound to screw it up.” “Look, I apologize,” voiced a seemingly too humble Blaine who swung his legs off the utterly awful mixed-vomit bedspread. He appeared playfully contrite. “Save it, Blaine. I don’t know why I do this. You…” Blaine’s eyes danced at the rise. “Because you were mad at him, and you feel better getting back at him through me. Don’t throw darts at me. Admit we like the satisfaction.” Melissa’s nostrils flared in a temporary flush of troubling emotion. Her father, Dillon, would not have approved though he would have suggested something, probably insufficient, but which showed he cared. When her mom abandoned them, Melissa could not remember her father voicing regrets. But Dad was dead. What followed was two decades of pain mixed with success and eventual disappointment. She had a short span of false hope offered in the early years of her marriage to Jared. Now she escaped with Blaine and avoided action with Jared. Action was hard, the opposite of self-deluded escape to greener pastures. Action caused anxiety. It was one thing to learn to avoid a hot stove when a toddler. However, loneliness pulled more strongly than the smell of pancakes and bacon. Its burns were a more difficult and crusty kind, a selection between a distant husband, a foolish lover, or a life alone. “Jared and I do have our problems, or I wouldn’t be here. But you’re mistaken if you think you know me, Blaine. Do what I ask. Don’t mention Jared. You and I are not on a level where I can trust a conversation, a discussion about him with you. “ Melissa seemed to stall in mental fatigue, sighing and dropping her eyes to the floor; but before Blaine could take advantage of her indecision, she gained a surge of energy, wagging her finger in a semblance of a parry. “You have given me something I need, but don’t pat yourself on the back as if you know me beyond the physical. You and I escape. That’s all. Let’s keep it at that until we are ready for another step that I’m not sure you’re capable of.” “Give me some credit, sugar,” purred Blaine smugly. 15

CHAPTER ONE “Credit for what? You said it yourself, Blaine. You enjoy getting back at Jared, so how will I ever really know if you care for me because of me?” Blaine rose, confidence oozing from his pores. His pace was slow and assured. His well-tanned and defined body was an oxymoron for a man of forty years. His nakedness brushed her skirt, her arm, and his hand touched her face in a deliberate but light caress. Blaine said nothing at first, except with his eyes, which emphatically asserted he owned her. “Melissa, let’s not fight. That’s for you and Jared. I care. I make you feel comfortable. Use me for the pleasure you deserve.” Melissa reached around Blaine’s waist in apparent surrender. With a sudden flip of the brush she smacked viciously at Blaine’s taunt bottom. Blaine jerked in shock. It was Melissa’s turn to smile. “You never cease to amaze me.” Blaine rubbed at the red mark on his behind. “And why did you choose me? You should be honest.” Melissa reasserted her worried stare, her guilty glimpse. Sensing a bulls-eye, Blaine went too far as if the things that kept him twenty forever also cursed him to repeat his mistakes. “What will you do when you end it between us? Do I need to give you Jared’s enemy list for your next snack?” Melissa’s anger was immediate. Her reaction swift. Her hand whip-sawed out in a nasty arc. Blaine’s face hammered backward. “And you’re an arrogant asshole who cannot tell when he’s overplayed his hand!” Like a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar, Blaine replied, this time meaning it. “I’m…I’m sorry. I was just playing.” Melissa glared, then quickly forced her feet into her sandals, grabbed her purse, and then the doorknob with a grip of fury. “God forgive me, Blaine. Not because I hit you, but because I forget that Jared may be aloof, even an ass sometimes; but he would never be so purposefully hurtful. I don’t care that you act like a kid, but I need a man.” She shook the glower from her face as she turned from him. She left Blaine naked and worried. Melissa was in control. Not her lover. But she could not connect with victory. Her parting comment left her lips with regret. “But that man, whoever he is, is deserving of someone who tries. I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow. Try not to look like a lost child around me. Folks might question what is going on.” She slammed the door in his face.

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Shadow of The Conjurer

CHAPTER TWO Jared McNally pulled onto the five hundred feet of black asphalt leading to their brick and stone ‘Queen Anne’ style home. Jared’s anxiety deflected his enjoyment of the orange, yellow and reds of the fall that held sway in their well-maintained yard. Large oaks and elms mingled along with pecans and chestnuts, their color ablaze. The home was located above the balance of their fifty acres of mostly pastures. Stands of wood stood between the shapely garden of Carolina jasmine, rose, and azalea that surrounded their stone veranda and the shallow, but clear, Flint River that flowed less than a half mile west. The serene view of the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains lay between their country lane home and Huntsville in the distance. This cemented their decision to buy the property. Maybe their decision was a sense of desperation, that without children to hold them together, shared beauty would. The property appeared a peaceful cornucopia of life. The beauty in the land kept them together in a dependable and practical manner, but so far failed to reignite old passions. Nonetheless, they occasionally shared the enjoyment of a setting sun, the fog meandering over the fields on the morning after a rain, the horses running joyfully in nippy winter weather, or the springtime bloom of their garden and fruit trees. Those shared experiences counted for something. Between their government salaries, they held a generous family income. Though now in their late thirties, they had no children, a loss sometimes privately mourned, but only with the realization that they never truly made an effort. The McNallys talked about that future with eagerness early in their relationship, but careers, building wealth, and detachment took its place. Priorities shifted as they enjoyed their private worlds. Time did not dawdle, even as Melissa’s maternal clock crept toward midnight. Jared slowed as he entered the carport, looking down the slope to note their practical but plain metal barn was open and lighted, a clear signal that Melissa was 17

CHAPTER TWO occupied with her sorrels, buckskins, and grays. These were her surrogate children, the registered quarter horses of the farm, eight impressively muscled ‘Steeldusts’. Jared parked the car and stalled in indecision. The safety of their home summoned the coward who remembered the sharp unpleasant emotion in the morning’s argument while the paladin called for heroic interdiction with his wife. Gradually. Stiffly. He turned in the direction of the gravel path leading to the barn. Melissa arrived home a full hour before Jared. She was not surprised in Jared’s absence, assuming he blew off steam in his own way. Melissa tried in the wrong way and now corrected that method with the tried and true, her favorite horse, Savannah Jo, an aging buckskin who though no longer ridden, was a patient friend who listened and nickered in support to her human companion. Brushing Savannah Jo was calming as Melissa pondered her options. Consequently, as Jared entered the barn, Melissa felt no small sense of annoyance. Some part of her wished, instead, that the problem would simply take care of itself, either in Jared leaving, Jared changing, or her emotions accepting their life as it was. The light in the barn was mostly artificial, but tinged with the setting sun, the illumination bouncing off the cool yellow of the metal barn door. The glow inside the open compound was smoky from the traces of floating dust mingled with the flickering evening swarms of midges soon to die from the emergence of nascent winter. The smell of wet horse manure hung sweetly in the air. Jared shuffled forward hesitantly, aware that morning was as fresh on Melissa’s mind as his. He stuck his hands in his pockets. Melissa acknowledged Jared’s presence with a harried look and returned her attention to Savannah Jo. He sat at the worn picnic table. Should he be blunt or stumble around the issue? He chose the latter. “Lost a plane today.” Melissa continued stroking the horse but grabbed the plastic water bucket. She reached inside and pulled out another brush with a tighter weave of smaller but softer bristles. Melissa applied a wet rinse to the horse’s neck and front sides that slowly erased the mud and dirt, layered when the horse rolled in a muddy field. Jared chuckled, trying to draw Melissa into his conversation, hoping to downplay the angry scene played out in the morning. “Yeah, those boys pulled one on me. But the joke’s on them. They have a $500 plane to replace.” Pause. Pause. Pregnant pause. Glancing quickly toward his wife, he added “But it worked out in the end.” 18

Shadow of The Conjurer Melissa continued brushing her horse, unwilling to be enticed, but in reality uncertain what to say. She remained engulfed in her own shame. “Oh, come on, Melissa. Don’t hold out on me. We both said things this morning we regret. Say something. This is killing me.” Jared wanted to apologize, but he could not say it. His mind said he was not responsible and held out for a smooth landing. Melissa threw the brush into the pail. In surrender to his initiative, she sat next to him, but propped her elbows on the table, unsure of a salve for their relationship. “Jared, I don’t know where to begin. I want things to be different, but this morning was just another scene from a worn out script. You perceive we talk too much. I don’t know if we ever did. We just go…wherever, but not with each other. Am I making any sense?” Jared squirmed in discomfort. “Yeah, I think so.” Melissa turned to her husband. “No. You don’t, Jared. That’s the point.” Jared kicked the ground, not viciously, but certainly deliberately. “Mel, we talked about this house. This property. I agreed to this frilly house for you. This whole set up is about you.” “I don’t deny my part, Jared. But this house. This land. It was for us. Not me. Not you. For us. At least I thought so, but we come home and do our own thing. When I need you, you come reluctantly. Out of a sense of duty.” “Oh, crap, here we go again,” said Jared, not in a frothy rebut, just not truly angry. Tinnier, like the high-pitched whine of the model aircraft he flew. “At what point do we talk about my needs? I’m not anti-social, but you knew what you were getting when we married. I didn’t claim to be the life of the party.” Melissa’s response was almost pleading, but quiet. “Your vows were about us, Jared. You enticed me before those vows. When we felt we were in love. Was it all a show?” “What did you expect from me? I never suggest you go to the Arsenal and watch tiny airplanes circle in the sky, even though I think you might like it. Are we talking minor differences or something major here?” “Jared, this morning was major. When you say divorce, part of you means it. After eight years of marriage you’re tired of me or tired of trying. Either way it is bad. When the polish wears off, something has to take its place. I…I’m…” She hesitated, the cause being piles of things inconsequential leading to things consequential. Melissa hated her softness. The leaky embarrassment in a wet tear. She swiped quickly to steal that honest reflection from her eye as if it was, instead, her irritation. With abrupt speed she retorted in defense of her feelings. “Jared. I’m tired of trying too.” 19

CHAPTER TWO Jared wanted to express a reassuring thought. A lie for a better feel. Instead, the predictable Jared claimed victory over the endearing Jared. The predictable Jared was ready to find someone like himself, someone who needed isolation, except those rare scenes when they emerged from their shells long enough to bark a friendly ‘Hello, how ya’ doin’?’ “You’re right. We need to figure this out,” he said. After an awkward moment he motioned toward the house. “I guess I ought to start supper. I’ll just…you know, pull something out, so you don’t have to leave. I think we have some stew in the fridge.” Jared smiled meekly and exited into the emerging dull of the early night. Melissa was left to stare at his receding figure. Another wet tear emerged from the surface of her glistening blue eyes. This again Melissa removed, but less quickly, recognizing with sadness that she helped prepare their shaky foundation. How could she ever find one heart amidst all this cowardice, this easy movement away from the hardest responsibilities of men and women for each other? Melissa returned to the dependable Savannah Jo, for a release from tension, for a remembrance of happiness that was always a thought away.

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he day was bright. The day was filled with gaiety and surprise. Fair goers drifted from tents full of salesmen demonstrating cheap wares to entertainment stages showcasing local talent mostly popular with local talent parents. But that mattered little to the laughing children enjoying spinning rides, festive balloons, and the taste of popcorn, hot dogs, and funnel cakes. And cotton candy. What child could enjoy the fair without cotton candy? Immovable memories of feathery swirls of painted sugar, pleasured not only for their sweetness, but the texture and splashy color of a sticky delight. Melissa Faraday grabbed the cotton candy from her father, Dillon, almost dropping it in the process. Today was her day. Dillon said so. So with only a quick “Oops, I’m sorry” she grabbed again, but this time at her father’s hand and tugged him down the carnival lane that marked the North Alabama State Fair. At eight years old Melissa was a tomboy, not only because she was raised as the son Dillon did not have, but because she liked boys and males in general. Melissa liked to play like boys and with what boys played with and had no real girlfriends other than acquaintances from her softball team. Dillon Faraday had a small farm. He raised his precious daughter on the land he loved and in their small two-bedroom home. He kept a decent job at a local manufacturing plant that made commercial grade heavy-duty pumps. He had opportunities for further growth in the company’s quality assurance department; but they required movement, and Dillon would not do that. Family was important to him. Moreover, Melissa was a daddy’s 20

Shadow of The Conjurer girl. When she went to family events, she always stayed close to her father, even with numerous cousins around. So today being her day, Melissa had one destination in mind. The arena. Now was the time to see the horses prepped and pampered. Her desire today was to shop. Her daddy said she was ready for her own. She even decided on a name for the horse. If it were a boy, he would be named ‘Dusty’ because she liked that name. But she wanted a mare. A mare is what a little girl should have. And if Melissa did not have many ‘girlfriends’, then the horse could be. This mare would be named ‘Savannah Jo’ because her grandmother said that was where her daddy was born. And Melissa wanted to please daddy. She was not deceitful. She was not manipulative. She just loved Dillon and loved him more for the promise of this gift he could barely afford. But she loved him most because he stayed with her. He dried her tears when her mom left with another man three years ago, the whys unexplained and the little girl hurting. Daddy was the one who convinced Melissa that it was not Melissa’s fault. Mom just decided she wanted more than their simple life offered. Had nothing to do with Melissa. And while it was wrong, was downright ‘no account’, maybe it meant that Mom thought Melissa was better off without her, better being raised by the father who would be the best parent and raise a better child. Mom still loved Melissa. She made a hard decision. And Dillon said it with strength. Said it with honesty as well as softness. He hid the fact of his own hurt, the deadly impact of being on the wrong side of the wrong woman. At least Dillon monitored his shortcomings when it came to all things female. His Melissa deserved that from the man who now had to be both parents. Melissa strained as she pulled her father ever slowly toward the huge tent marked ‘Equine Plaza’. Dillon enjoyed stalling his daughter, stopping ever so often to peer at the food vendors’ treats or to stupidly listen to the persistent entreaties of the barking carnies. Bit-by-bit, Dillon let himself be moved toward her destination. Finally, Melissa stopped in frustration. Instead of pulling Dillon forward, she pulled him down by his shirt. She turned his worn face with eight-year-old uncalloused hands, establishing eye contact of green to blue, father to daughter, and black sweaty hair to sun-bitten auburn curls. And she kissed him. Her needful eyes locked into his. “Daddy. If I have to, I’ll go to that tent by myself; but I don’t want to. If I see my pony, if I know my pony because it says hello in the nicest horsey way, I want my Daddy to be there when I do. Otherwise, it won’t be the same. So tell me you’re coming.” Dillon was always surprised by the endearment he felt in his daughter’s actions, the disarming that came so easy from her smile, her words. The pleasure in such surprise reinforced his will to make his daughter’s life a haven, a pillowy cloud of protection from 21

CHAPTER TWO harm. He stopped his teasing, reached down to pick up the youngster, too large for this treatment, but never too old, and held her against his shoulder like a toddler. Purposefully, he strode the last hundred feet until they were enclosed in the tarp-covered shelter. The smell of fresh hay was mixed with a slight background of manure. A nicker rippled here and there. Dillon placed Melissa on the grassy but trampled ground. They gazed around, temporarily unsure where to go. However, the hesitation was broken when they heard muffled gasps of interest. Melissa hurried ahead, unable to contain her curiosity in the mass of enthralled people. She could not see the center of attention, but that did not stop her. She moved around legs and bodies a layer at a time until she stood at the front, adults moving enough for her to squeeze into the group, their faces unmoving from the small ring. In the middle lay a sorrel mare being attended by a veterinarian, another man and woman standing to his right. The vet lay behind the mare that struggled and groaned. One leg of the doc was stretched out and the other was tucked under as he moved his arm in the mare’s womb. The horse was in labor. The crowd and Melissa watched intently. The vet grimaced. He pulled on what Melissa saw was the rear legs of the foal. It was a breach, but the doc was making progress. The foal was slowly maneuvered as the vet rearranged his own legs in concert with his efforts to move the foal’s. As the shiny placenta emerged, Melissa’s eyes grew large in wonder. She could hardly breathe as her father separated the crowd to reach her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Dillon leaned over and whispered. “It’s one of nature’s miracles, sweetie.” The pixie-ish girl literally beamed. She turned away from the wondrous scene long enough for an acknowledging nod to Dillon. Little Melissa grabbed her father’s hand again. This time she pulled it to the metal rail to be folded within her own, wringing her father’s in a furious fashion as if her hands were a wet washrag holding a bar of soap. A couple of old grizzled men exchanged chaws of tobacco and talked loudly. One reached for the others’ shirt and said something funny. They both guffawed, causing some of the crowd to turn to see what the fuss was about. All returned to watch, even the old codgers, as a shout of “Look!” caused all to exclaim a spontaneous “ooh”. The vet pulled the foal out of its mother. It lay on the floor in a slippery mess, vigorously beginning life in a frantic movement to pull itself to its feet. It was still enclosed in the wet, but now torn placenta. The foal’s struggles caught Melissa’s excitement as nothing in her life did before. Her hands moved from wringing Dillon’s to clutching each other, the thumbs of both hands stuck between her incisors. Repeatedly the newborn tried and failed to rise. With each attempt the crowd gasped when the foal sprawled to the grass. After resting a few seconds, it was emboldened 22

Shadow of The Conjurer to try again. Shaky spindly legs planted and raised the foal’s body, first from the rear then from the front. It took its first steps and shook off a few droplets of moisture. The crowd exploded into laughter and clapping. And just as quick, the startled foal fell to its stomach again. The momentary silence was broken by the high-pitched voice of Melissa Faraday. “Hush! Can’t you see he is embarrassed from being born in front of you?” The two grizzled men who interrupted earlier burst into laughter, immediately followed by the rest of the crowd. Dillon smiled broadly, tousling her hair. The mare stood and drank from a shallow trough of water inside the pen while the vet motioned for Melissa to come inside the stall. Dillon seemed a little anxious over the spontaneous request. “Are you sure?” The vet responded. “Your little girl can help. This little one is just a few minutes from being on her feet for the rest of her life. What’s your name, little girl?” Ignoring the question, Melissa stated her own. “Did you say ‘her’ feet, mister?” The vet scratched his chin whiskers in puzzle. “Well, so I did. And why do you ask, Miss…Miss what?” “Oh, I’m Melissa Faraday. This is my daddy, Dillon. And he said I could have a pony, and I want this one.” That brought another cackle from the crowd. The owner loudly added. “Well, Dillon, you better get this young woman in here, or this little colt will walk without any help from Melissa.” Dillon picked up Melissa with a swoosh and grunt, placing her inside the pen whereupon she almost slid to the newborn like the practiced ballplayer she was. Once planted in the trodden grass next to the foal, she reached tentatively to the colt as if fearful her small hand might harm. As her hand touched the trembling foal’s neck, a momentary expression of displeasure raced across Melissa’s face as she realized the horse was slick with fetal tissue. “She’s kind of icky still.” “Yes, sweetie, but that will dry off quickly. Then, her fur will really fluff up,” said the vet. “I already named her Savannah Jo after where my daddy was born.” The vet squatted next to Melissa with a gentleness born from concern that the little girl’s dream would stay a dream. “Why don’t you check with your daddy, honey. Besides, you’re going to help me get this baby on her legs first.” He helped Melissa to her feet as the 23

CHAPTER TWO mare sauntered beside them, nickering encouragement to her newborn. “I’ll grab her tail and back end. Your job is to keep her attention so she doesn’t startle.” “Are you sure she’s ready?” “Just watch. I’m good at what I do. Now don’t get too close. Those little hooves of hers are sharp. You ready?” Melissa jumped a quick two-step in happy anticipation. “Ready!” The vet tugged at the colt. In a moment the young horse was on its feet again. This time the doc held her up as Melissa talked to the pony. “Easy, Savannah Jo. We’re trying to help you.” Melissa had some experience with the few cattle her father owned and knew that young animals’ primary drive was milk from momma. “Mister, you think she’s ready to eat?” “I think so, young lady. Let her try.” This time the few unsteady steps taken by the foal were rewarded as she moved in position. The colt took its first several tugs while Melissa clapped her hands with glee, doing the quick short and fast jumps that youngsters are capable of in their happiness. The crowd cheered. A few whistles were heard in the background as Melissa looked to her dad with questioning eyes. Dillon looked to the owner. “Momma registered?” “Quarter Horse Association.” Dillon took off his hat, raising his boot to the metal rail. “Afraid of that. How much?” “Don’t know yet, but her mom has good papers. So does the stallion. I don’t do it for free. I paid $1000 for the mare. Can’t see her baby going for less.” “Can’t see paying that much either, ‘specially for a colt you won’t have any real expenses against. Was the dam saddle broke for $1000?” “Yup. You break the colt?” “Sure. I assume a break in price.” “Yup. Be after the colt’s weaned.” “Yeah,” nodded Dillon. “You consider work trade?” “Maybe. Depends on your skills. We can talk later.” “Yeah, later.” Melissa was carefully listening for a ‘no’. Not hearing such, she ran to the fence, scrabbled up the rails and over, literally jumping into her daddy’s arms. “I just knew you would, daddy. I just knew you would!” 24

Shadow of The Conjurer

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elissa smiled, lost in memories, as Savannah Jo whinnied loudly. She brushed the horse fiercely and leaned against the mare for support. “I miss you, daddy.”

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CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE Time passed slowly after the weekend arguments. Melissa dealt with Blaine at arm’s length. She did not entertain his repeated entreaties though she had to continue their work relationship in support of a patent infringement claim from defense contractor, Radar Dynamics. Thorough coordination was required between the engineers and the lawyers to establish the government’s ability to challenge contractor assertions. The second day of the week ended in an evening between Melissa and Jared with little more than chit chat, but bedtime broke a little of the iciness. They lay in bed, alone in their worlds, playing at reading, furtive glances over the top of her paperback and his eBook novel, unsure whether their desire for change was shared. Melissa, in the face of her outward strength, her outward success, deplored life without a man she could trust. And Melissa still felt a shred of trust in Jared. After spending time with Blaine, a man she knew in her heart was not dependable, she was wary of her ability to make smart decisions when it came to love. So it boiled down to Jared making a move. He was uncertain he had the inner strength to change who he was for the sake of his wife. Jared felt the stirrings of guilt, maybe a little from recognition of unacceptable behavior, but also because of his recognized shortcomings in dealing with Melissa. “Mel, when we lived in Huntsville, we took regular walks together.” Melissa’s heart moved a little faster. She closed her paperback and laid it on the quilt, somewhat hopeful. “That’s an idea. Only problem is with the time change it’s dark when we get home. I suppose we could take a flashlight.” “And Connor. He liked those walks.” 26

Shadow of The Conjurer Connor was their beautiful, middle-aged retriever, lively for an eight year old and very protective of the couple. Jared fed him, even if he was indifferent about Connor’s other necessities, such as vets, baths, and grooming. Melissa did those things though she occasionally felt her dutiful care nurtured Connor’s love for Jared more than for her. “But it’s dangerous for him in the dark,” noted Melissa. “Then, let’s leave work a couple of hours early. We haven’t walked the property in awhile. We’ll check the fence line. It will be fun.” “Okay. If afterwards, you grill us a couple of steaks and a hot dog for Connor.” “You got it, kiddo.” They returned to their reading. No furtive glances. Satisfaction can be in small steps that nudge them in the right direction.

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he next afternoon’s weather was crisp and cool. Jared arrived home earlier than Melissa, changing clothes and pulling on a durable calf-length pair of walking boots. He was driven to meticulously ensure every tool was available for any contingency. Broken barbed wire. Loose barbed wire. Brush increasing fence load and reducing voltage on the lines. Broken insulators. Rusted metal on gate connectors increasing electrical resistance. Loose fence posts. Broken fence posts. Typical Jared behavior that increased the complexity beyond utility. Jared was a serial over-complicator. Because they would walk an area predominantly of barbed wire and split-cedar fencing, Jared focused on barbed wire repair and minor brush removal. So he carefully selected a wire cutter, a plant clipper, two fence crimpers, thirty feet of baling wire, an eighteen-inch long aluminum pipe for tightening repaired wire, and of course two sets of heavy leather gloves, essential for dealing with barbed wire. Melissa arrived home and strolled into the barn, hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans, her corduroy jacket flapping as she walked. She immediately scowled at her husband. “Jared. This was supposed to be a pleasant afternoon stroll.” “I clearly said I wanted to check the fence line.” “Yeah, ‘check’ the fence line, not repair it. It will take too much time from our walk, and we won’t enjoy it. We’ll be working fifteen minutes at each break.” “But it’s a waste of time if we don’t fix what we find.” “This is what is so frustrating. We talked about time to enjoy what we have. Leave your damn repair to Jared time, not fun time,” admonished Melissa. “But I took the time to get the right tools.” 27

CHAPTER THREE “Then wait to put them back until we return.” Jared grimaced, laying the belt on the barn table. It was simply against his disposition to not execute a carefully laid plan. “Well, I’m taking a pair of fence pliers anyway, just in case. We don’t want the horses to get out.” “And if you take more than two minutes with anything, I’m walking back to the house; and I’m walking back mad. You understand?” Jared nodded but handed her a pair of leather gloves which she accepted in irritation. However, she did a one eighty in temperament as Connor approached, the dog sensing the problem was resolved. Melissa stooped and surrounded the retriever’s head in her breasts and arms, briskly rubbing Connor’s neck and cooing. Connor’s tail swung quickly back and forth, understanding adventure was loose. He ran to the barn door and looked back. “Okay. We’re ready, boy,” said Jared as Connor raced down the shallow hill that lay to the west of the barn, taking time for a quick bark at two of the horses. They took a circuitous route. Connor chased a couple of rabbits and flushed a covey of quail. The retriever waded through the creek that dissected their property, hopping at a frog that had not yet slowed for cooler weather. Melissa laughed heartily. At one point she reached for Jared’s hand as they worked their way steadily to their two hundred feet of river frontage. Jared’s good sense kicked in. Though he saw a few places that could use a quick twist, he simply pointed at them with the pliers. When they reached the Flint River, the sun was about to set. The water was clear, not very deep at the eastern end of their frontage. At places rivulets of sun-frosted river water streaked over beds of stones worn smooth from the constant action of the stream. Jared noted a pair of bass cutting in and around a patch of river plants in the shallows. They watched silently for a couple of minutes as the sun began to move down over a far hill. They could barely make out its downward progress through the thicket of trees on both sides of the river; but the sky was a painting, a mix of pink, orange, and yellow scattered in running patterns of streaky clouds and the slowly dissolving contrail of a jet that flew very high in the heavens. Melissa absorbed the scene with satisfaction. “We need these experiences. If I had left you alone, we would still be at the first repair.” “It’s hard to kick habits, but aren’t you glad I care?” “Well, of course, dummy. You’re a good man. I sometimes forget because I…I’m a little needy.” Melissa examined Jared with a forced smile, not transparently forced, not 28

Shadow of The Conjurer enough to cause suspicion; but she did not like that impatient woman who was unwilling to work on what might keep them together. Jared took her in his arms, and she accepted. They weren’t healed. However, it was a start. Something had to be done to break the ice and brake the momentum caused by use of the ‘D’ word on the previous weekend. The question was not forgiveness. They weren’t ready for that. The question was whether they would reverse course or simply stall again, slipping ever gradually on that downward path to a breach that would not be filled. Jared kissed her forehead. “Well, when I want to be alone, I’m a little selfish.” “It’s okay to be the Jared who needs his airplanes, who needs to be alone sometime. I married you knowing that. Just don’t forget that we also need some fun…together.” “We better head back. Another thirty minutes, and it will be dark. Let’s walk along the railroad and visit the old cemetery in the corner of the property.” “Let’s hurry, then. I don’t want to be there after dark.” “Give you the willies?” “Yeah. It’s forlorn. That’s the best I can say. So many rundown graves. Forgotten people. Forgotten names. No one cares anymore. I don’t like that. At least I don’t like to think about it.” “I thought you felt the old slave cemetery was quaint. I’ve heard you say so in social settings.” Melissa’s face seemed to search for the right words. “Maybe at first. But now, they feel closer. Like family. It’s like seeing Connor run over by a car. We couldn’t leave him at the side of the road. These people have been left at the side of the road and it feels…unfinished. Or incomplete.” “We don’t have to go.” “No, it’s okay. Let’s not stay long.” Jared and Melissa owned what used to be the heart of an old plantation. Before they built their house, the hill overlooking the pasture revealed a few broken bricks scattered amongst the weeds. A vague impression of a foundation remained. According to the locals, the old home burned down in the late 1800s. The family had not rebuilt it. The owner thought they might have moved to Huntsville. Landowners from that time had a hard time recovering. In his recollection the original landowners were named Thompson, and a Thompson Family Cemetery was nearby. The lay of the land meant the McNallys could locate their planned home off the main road, facing the mountains to the south and west and giving them privacy. Though uncertain it was respectable to build over the old home 29

CHAPTER THREE site and in close proximity to such a restless and disrespected cemetery, they decided a renewal would appease any lingering dead. Melissa now remembered that earlier discomfort. As she recalled that memory, she wished they would have dealt more directly with the dilemma ahead of the sale. Just what was their responsibility to this disconcerted parcel? As Melissa and Jared strode tentatively into the brush, they were reminded anew of the deterioration surrounding the departed. It was not only unsightly, but desecrated with poison ivy and fallen trees. It painted the immediate ground as an other worldly Hades only missing the River Styx, the unseen souls matched in gloom above ground as well as below. What a contrast to the nearby beauty as if the setting sun enabled a complete reversal to the immediacy of death. Jared surveyed the gloom. “I know what you’re thinking. One of these days we have to clean this up. But it is fascinating, even if forlorn. Can you imagine the stories of its residents?” “That’s why its condition makes me feel awful. Who could find peace in this?” “I suppose a demon from Hell.” Melissa turned to her husband and gave him a gentle shove. “Jared! You should be ashamed.” “But look at all of the depressions. If they weren’t all covered with ivy and debris, you could almost imagine the agitated bones of the deceased bursting from each grave.” Jared and Melissa were so absorbed they did not notice Connor. He stopped roaming in the brush. Instead, he sniffed the air and slowly, but deliberately, moved from his masters toward a depression behind the couple, an earthy sarcophagus unlike other surrounding depressions. The ivy inside lay dead and shriveled as if painted with herbicide. Connor peered intently at the grave. Then first, with his front foot pawing the air above the burial place, Connor moved decisively to remove the debris. The dog appeared as if he was attacking a snake, his head moving in and out of the debris in quick snaps, removing small amounts of dead ivy and loose weeds. Within a couple of minutes a pile of dirt appeared at the head of the depression. Connor retreated and studied the parcel as if wondering what to do next. He jumped full into the depression, digging furiously in the damp dirt. This time he quickly ripped away roots and clumps of clay that went flying behind him in machine gun ‘thunks’ of sound. It was loud enough to interrupt Jared and Melissa. In horror Melissa squealed. “Stop! Connor, stop now!” She swiftly took the thirty feet to the grave in a few long jumps. Just as Melissa reached for the retriever, the dog whimpered loudly. Connor moved away from Melissa in a side step that took the dog out of the grave, leaving Melissa with 30

Shadow of The Conjurer only an empty grab at his tail now tucked between his legs. Connor dashed out of the cemetery. He was barely visible in the emerging gray of the pasture. “What came over him?” said Melissa. She looked into the shallow depression, searching for a reason for the dog’s tomfoolery. Jared bent next to his wife and poked his hand around in the grave, finding nothing. “I don’t see anything here, an old deer bone or anything that might have attracted him. Connor probably smelled rabbit scat or deer urine. Seems cold though.” “He took off as if I was a dog catcher.” Melissa gazed into the pasture where Connor sat unmoving, his head hung low in submission. “It’s funny. You were as scared as he was. You must have thought he had a leg bone of some poor slave.” Jared chuckled as Melissa slapped his arm. “Stop now. It’s not that funny.” “On hindsight, yes, it was.” “Maybe, but don’t dare tell anyone back at work. How is a lawyer supposed to keep her respect if you tell them I’m scared of ghosts?” “Well, you can rest assured lawyers don’t get any respect anyway.” Melissa slapped his arm in fake anger. They made their way to the edge of the cemetery, Melissa looking back one last time with an unfinished question on her face. Jared whistled at Connor, and the three adventurers slowly padded back. The house they wished to become a home lay in sight of the barn. The moon was on the wane, and the dark hid Connor’s limp. The couple chose small talk to avoid conscious contact with this crossroad of their relationship as they held on to the special wonder of this engaging evening. The barn welcomed the McNallys with a flickering mercury vapor light that finally found its sea legs at the drop of night in a steady glow of phosphorescence ignited by its sensor. Behind its protective glow the graveyard looked on, no longer asleep, unsure that peace is an entitlement of good people, even when honesty backs the intentions of wary penitents.

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CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR Jared insisted that they rack the tools before leaving for the house. Melissa helped. It was her way of mollifying Jared and not compromising the nice buzz from their afternoon stroll. She felt closer to the feelings she had in the early years of their marriage. Their barn cats, a big tom named Howler (or Howie as preferred by Melissa), and Iris, his fat spayed companion, emerged from hay in the loft and drifted down to meander around the couple’s legs. Both felines worked for a living of cat chow and scratches, a reward for their careful vigilance that controlled the rat population. Jared was playful as he combed Melissa’s hair with a bristly grooming brush. She feigned disgust, and he laughed. Jared reached behind her and pulled Melissa to his lips, giving her a quick peck and another short he-he of staccato laughter. Melissa, instead, surprised Jared, as in reply she roughly grabbed his head in a hug and cut short his laughter with a long kiss, filled with desire. Jared’s eyebrows funneled to a ‘vee’ in shock. Their emotions had been restrained in the past weeks, their love-making encumbered with responsibility and distance. “Wow. Didn’t see that coming. Enjoyed it though.” Melissa stroked his hair as she purred her agreement. Connor rose from the dusty barn floor to enjoy their camaraderie. He pulled up with a yelp that brought the attention of his masters. “Jared, Connor’s limping.” “There, boy. It’s okay. Let me check that foot.” Jared quickly settled the dog with a hand stroke to his side. He raised Connor’s leg for closer inspection and prodded along the back of his leg, feeling for anything that would give a clue to his pain. “Don’t see anything. No bumps or swelling. No blood or cuts. Why don’t you look?” 32

Shadow of The Conjurer “You’re right. Nothing on the leg.” She rolled Connor to examine the bottom of his foot. They both noticed the protrusion at the same time. “What is that? Looks like a bone,” observed Jared. Indeed, extending from the back of Connor’s paw was a knobby end of what one might think was a small brown bone. Melissa delicately touched it for fear of harming Connor. “It’s dry. Feels like a bone without cartilage.” Jared crouched and gently pushed the dog’s head to the ground so he could not observe their testing of the unknown spur. Jared pulled on it, drawing a painful cry from Connor. “Whoa! That’s a thorn and a damn big one. Get some pliers.” Melissa obliged as Jared tugged harder. Connor continued to whimper with an occasional sharp reaction to Jared’s efforts. “No blood, but this booger is stuck.” Melissa handed the pliers to Jared. “Be careful.” “It won’t come out without some pain.” “Then do it quickly. Make sure you have a good grip on the base.” Jared maneuvered the pliers for a moment. He pulled fiercely and precisely. The thorn came loose and blood spurted from Connor’s paw and into Jared’s face. Surprised, Jared jumped to his feet, dropping the pliers and the thorn to the dusty floor of the barn while his hands worked to brush away the blood on his face and neck. “Stop, Jared. You’re scaring him. It’s just a little blood.” Melissa seized a dirty towel lying on the bench and wrapped it around Connor’s foot. Dark spotty blood appeared on the pale towel as Melissa took repeated stabs at the spurting limb. The blood soon quieted to a dribble. When Jared saw the emergency was over, he stooped to pick up the thorn. It was long, thick, and evil looking. Jared’s face reflected revulsion. “It must be from one of those nasty looking trees that make those…those green gnarly-looking fruits. You know. Those…oh, damn. Can’t think of their name.” Melissa grabbed the thorn from Jared, but in the process pricked herself deeply with the sharp end. “Be careful, Mel. It was lying in manure dust. You might get an infection.” Melissa grabbed the towel she used on Connor for herself. She examined her injury. It bubbled blood with each squeeze of the finger. “It’s alright.” She twirled the thorn closely in front of her eyes. “Oh, this is honey locust. It’s too long to be Osage orange, that 33

CHAPTER FOUR green fruit you mentioned, though it is rather thick for a honey locust. Hmm. It seems to have a bit of silvery dust on it.” Melissa looked back at her husband in reflection. “How he ever got this in his paw, I’ll never understand.” “Must have been shoved between layers of skin. If that was buried in muscle, he couldn’t walk to the barn without our noticing.” Melissa handed the trophy back to Jared, her blood and Connor’s gleaming stickily on its side. “Seems the immediate damage is over. I have some hydrogen peroxide in the tack room. I’ll use it on both of us.” Jared continued to twist and turn the thorn, examining the point with the tip of his finger. “Y-o-w-ouch. Attach this baby to a handle, and you’d have quite the stiletto. I’m keeping this. Looks like Connor woke the dead, and they didn’t like it, huh.” “Don’t laugh. I thought the same.” Melissa applied the peroxide to Connor, then released him. Connor moved quickly to the barn door, turned around to mirror what might be doggie concern, and then ran out into the dark. Melissa walked to the door and watched him cover the one hundred yards to the back porch with serious speed.

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he next day, Thursday, was uneventful. Connor was his old self, playful and full of energy. Jared took him on a walk the following evening. He flushed a rabbit and a quail in exaltation, running after the rabbit until he was totally exhausted. Melissa relaxed afterwards. That was her desire, to ignore the soft alarm. As Melissa worked late Saturday night in the kitchen over a batch of brownies, Connor walked to the rug in the dining area, quietly circling several times before settling down. The retriever began the licking. It was a slurpy rasping sound of Connor’s tongue that caught Melissa’s attention. That annoying sound. That attention-catching, sloppy sound accompanied by the intermittent blowing of the dog’s nose drew Melissa’s mind, then her eye. Connor was uneasy. He stood and repeated the twisting and circling movement, getting comfortable. Melissa looked at her pet, uneasiness beginning a slow corrosion on her calm. She watched Connor closely. He repeatedly drew his tongue over the paw, the paw with the thorn. “Connor. Stop that!” The dog glared at Melissa, at least that’s what Melissa perceived as Connor’s lips momentarily curled into a display of menacing teeth. Melissa’s hand went to her mouth in surprise, unsure of what she saw behind his eyes. Connor rose from the floor to perform his 34

Shadow of The Conjurer dance a third time, this time wagging his tail in acknowledgment of Melissa, settling again in a circle and starting on the paw again. Melissa moved to Connor’s side, yearning for a reprieve from concern and maybe reassurance that what she saw was an illusion. Immediately, Melissa felt the heat from the infection, the puffiness. She carefully squeezed the wound and a nauseating dribble of pus oozed from the hole. “I am such an idiot! I should have checked this.” In a few minutes Melissa returned from the medicine cabinet with peroxide and a bottle of penicillin. Connor growled, stopping Melissa in her tracks. Growled softly but without taking his eyes from Melissa, without moving his head from his paws, the hair on his head almost flattening with his ears in intimidation. “Stop! This isn’t like you, boy. And I don’t like this any more than you, but it’s necessary.” Connor seemed to sag. His eyes unfocused as he pulled into a ball on the rug. Melissa opened the medicine bottle and placed a couple of antibiotics in a piece of cheese that Connor ate reluctantly. “That’s more like my dog!” Melissa hugged Connor’s neck and kissed his wet nose. Connor was worse on Monday. The dog was lethargic and refused to eat. Even an invitation by Jared to a walk could not pull the dog from a stupor, so they decided to take him to the vet. Jared had never offered to take Connor to the vet but insisted on accompanying Melissa. They talked little on the drive to Huntsville. Connor barely raised his head from the back seat. So they were momentarily relieved when the vet appeared unconcerned over Connor’s condition, prescribing more antibiotics. Jared did raise a worried statement about the thorn, noting the rapidity of the infection. The vet said his flushing of the wound likely removed any remaining particles; but sensing an unusual concern, he took Jared’s shoulder in a quick and soft press of reassurance and said Connor would be good as new within the week. On the drive home they stopped to buy a steak for Connor and a bag of treats. He ate the steak and accepted a treat, but without the enthusiasm his owners knew he was capable of.

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CHAPTER FOUR Melissa said with forced certainty, “Take him on a walk tomorrow. The first rabbit he glimpses will change that disposition. Just wait and see. If I’m not worried, neither should you.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped. “Let him sleep in our bedroom, instead of the utility room.” “I was going to say the same thing.” Then, she hugged Jared because he needed it and so did Melissa. Strength was in numbers.

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hey took Connor to the veterinarian on Wednesday, a week after the injury and two days after the last visit. The wound was festering, despite antibiotics. This time the vet asked to keep him overnight. Reluctantly, Melissa and Jared agreed. Melissa called the next morning only to be told the vet switched Connor to a stronger antibiotic and that he would call her in the afternoon. She did not wait for a call. This time the vet talked to her, saying it was too early for the new antibiotic to work. He asked they leave Connor another night. Melissa was blunt, saying that if they were waiting for the meds to work, Connor could wait at home as well as at the animal hospital. The vet had misgivings because the illness was unusual and might be a type of staph infection resistant to drugs. Melissa did not back down. She arrived after work to the antiseptic smell of the animal hospital. The smiling secretary motioned for her to sit in the waiting room along with the other patients, two huge dogs, a terrier, and several carriers holding anxious pets. The yowling was mostly from cats calling constantly in worry. The dogs hugged their masters’ legs. A large canine puked a huge stinking pile of sticky vomit. The smell mixed with the antiseptic background was unsettling. Melissa sat next to another owner who sniffled quietly and periodically dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, obviously anguished over a very sick pet. By the time a droopy-headed Connor was led to the waiting room, Melissa was ready to leave. They exited to a dark evening sky erupting into a deluge. With a sigh Melissa ran as fast as Connor would move. Connor limped at a snail’s pace, even in the downpour. She opened the back of the SUV to encourage him to jump in. The dog would not, so Melissa picked him up and placed him in the back. She quickly closed the tailgate, but in that instant Connor chose to turn and expose his injured paw to the door. Connor yelped as the door slammed into it. Melissa gasped at her repeated stupidity. Cursing, she opened the 36

Shadow of The Conjurer tailgate. Connor moved back on three legs as Melissa grabbed the dog and lifted him to the ground. Connor lay shivering in the gathering puddles as Melissa shut the tailgate and urged him back to the building. As this did not work (Connor could not be blamed for reticence), Melissa lifted the sixty-pound dog to her shoulders and waddled through the river of rain. Two hours later she was the last to leave, satisfied that she had not broken Connor’s foot, but aggravated and aggrieved. Melissa’s misfortune left her vulnerable. She almost left Connor at the animal hospital for another night, but pulled on invisible reserves, and declined. At least Melissa did not slam the door on Connor’s foot again. The rain covered them both with a dreary finality from the last three hours of bad news and misfortunes. After minutes of vacant driving Melissa arrived home. She opened the back door and entered through the utility room. Jared waited at the dining table reading the paper. He perked up, his eyes searching for good news, but quickly assessed trouble from her wet, rumpled, and foreboding look. He rose from the table as she grabbed several towels. They went to the utility room where Connor awaited, lying in the corner next to the washer. “Well, what did the doctor say?” asked Jared as Melissa toweled Connor. “Wait.” “Wait as in wait till you finish drying off Connor or wait meaning something else?” Melissa stopped as a tear fell from her eye and converged with the rain droplets on her cheek. She looked quickly at Jared and then slumped to the floor, holding the wet towel, her back to the washer and her feet extended. “Bad news,” said Jared. He crouched next to his wife, taking his turn at encouragement. “Did he give us more medicine?” Melissa nodded as she cried softly, the tears falling faster. Jared sat next to his wife, placed his arm around her, and leaned her head to his shoulder. “Then, we will wait together.” Several days later, drifting further downward into malaise along with his masters, Connor quit eating and died. After they laid Connor into a final resting place far away from the cemetery, the first of the little sacrifices were left on the back deck.

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CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE Maybe pets become our entrenched friends because they do not talk back except in actions. Piss them off, and they may take a dump on your new Persian carpet. They are family, one whose death may be equivalent in impact to that of a human brother, mother, or possibly even child, especially if the owner has no children of their own. We tell ourselves it is only an animal; but in our hearts we know that pet has feelings for us, and we can’t help but return them. So Connor’s death was a ripper of emotions in that first week after his quiet burial. The curtained memories always evoke a strong emotion of loss, one we do not like to walk back to unless forced by the sight of a favorite toy or an old photo lost in the bottom of a drawer. However, this negative side was balanced by something good, something unexpected but welcome. The wakeful zombie life after Connor held the possibility of bringing them closer in a silent magnetism. For the first time in a very long time, their needful love-making was natural, a truly nurturing aspect for their worn down relationship. They did walk together for several evenings afterwards. They did enjoy coffee together in the mornings before work. A potential recovery materialized between two people who shared this grief. So when the strangeness deepened, the recovery was postponed, not forgotten, not undesired, simply overcome by events which started as a drop, moved to a trickle, and then to something larger. Neither Jared nor Melissa thought much about that first one, a rat that Jared found as he emerged from the back door to the work day walk to the carport. He saw similar in the past, and like other times, grabbed the corpse by its scaly tail and threw it over the fence to the pasture to be trampled by the horses and taken by the earth. Howler and Iris sometimes left little contributions of rats and chipmunks or an occasional squirrel to the human members of their pride, sometimes half-eaten, an invitation to dinner. Even the 38

Shadow of The Conjurer second rat, found this time by Melissa, only elicited a momentary surprise since it was the second in two days. So the third in three days made them wonder if they had an infestation. That evening, after checking around the house and barn, they found only one. No infestation. The next morning Melissa finished dressing for work. Her routine was ingrained, allowing her to go through the motions while thinking through other priorities. ‘Busy. Stay busy. Something is bothering me, but I can’t put my finger on it’ drifted amidst the clutter of her thoughts. Finishing the routine, she pulled her coat on slowly, stopping with her arm halfway covered. She experienced a hot flash, a momentary feeling of heavy air and difficult breathing that caused a ripple of tightness from her diaphragm to her toes. She closed her eyes at its sudden ending; then opened them again while looking straight ahead, eyes level. Amid uncertainty, her pupils shifted down robotically, expecting trouble, but calm with it. On the deck lay a dead rabbit. The cats did not take rabbits. Connor tried often and succeeded rarely; but with no replacement dog as yet, the McNallys had no canine to blame unless it was an aimless coyote. Such a hunter would have eaten the hapless animal, not deposited it at their back door. Melissa stared at the cold and stiff corpse of the hare. She calmly walked back into the house. Not finding Jared in the immediate area, she sat in a dining room chair and waited. Jared saw the unsettled look on his wife and slowed before closing the distance. “What?” “Another one. But it’s different this time.” Jared walked to the back door without a word. He was gone a couple of minutes before returning to the dining room. ‘What the hell is going on? You think one of the neighbor kids…?” He trailed off, as if knowing the answer and felt stupid suggesting something else. “It’s creepy. We need to watch the deck tonight.” “Yeah. I’ll rig up a motion sensor with the light switch. Then, I’ll put a cot by the door. If the porch light comes on, I’ll investigate.” Melissa’s rational mind wanted to say that the light would scare away their tormenter, knowing that was untrue. “I want to be there too.” “There’s not much space in the utility room.” “I don’t care.” Jared’s stony face translated only reluctant acceptance. 39

CHAPTER FIVE Tired and confused. Their wakeful minds registered every sound, outside and inside the house. They tossed and turned on the uncomfortable mattress. A cricket’s chirp heightened their anxiety. Two times they swore that something was on the deck, but the light did not engage. Jared checked the sensor, one time crawling on his belly to determine if it was a location issue; but both times the light came on automatically. By four in the morning they were beat. By six, sunlight registered the new morning. They looked out through the door’s curtain-shadowed window. No dead gift. Jared suggested the absence of another corpse was clear evidence they worried about nothing. So with confused minds and sleepy bodies, they elected to call in a sick day and went up to their bed, this time taking the pill they could not afford to take the night before. They slept until noon, got up, and dressed for work. An afternoon of work seemed the reasonable choice. Their oddly synchronous dressing routine was deliberate even if subconscious, neither talking to the reason for needing the other when they walked out of the house. Melissa opened the bedroom door for Jared. They walked down the stairs together, grabbed their car keys and glanced at each other, eyes locking for an instant in recognition of their worry. Jared opened the utility door for Melissa, and she opened the back door for him. Before exiting he looked to the deck. He coughed before shutting the door to block Melissa’s view, trembling slightly. “It’s a raccoon.” Melissa nervously switched her purse to her other arm. “I…I’m at a loss here. What do we do next? I can’t talk about this with anyone. It’s too bizarre not to be connected.” There. It was out. It could not be taken back without solid proof that it was fantasy. Those slasher movies never stated the obvious. You don’t handle these things alone. They build on the victim’s inability to control his fate, but your chances of survival increased when everyone moved in the same direction. A herd mentality was the best defense. “Imaging. I want to try video,” said Jared. “Why would video work when a motion sensor won’t?” “Because we won’t be there to disturb what’s happening. We will simply record it from an unobtrusive distance.” “Jared, whatever is doing this knew we were watching.” “You’re missing the obvious, Mel. Whoever is doing this wants us to know it. They simply want no interference in the process. I’ll place the camera where they won’t notice it. Voila, no interference.” “Oh. Makes sense. Maybe we can get some sleep while they perform their creepy little dance.” 40

Shadow of The Conjurer “Maybe we’re victims of our own delusions. Group hysteria.” “Five days in a row? I don’t think that’s hysteria. How quick can you set it up?” “I’ll do it today. I need a night sight rigged to a video recorder. May cost a bit.” “I don’t care how much it costs anymore than you.” “Right.” Jared nodded, realizing his wife knew him and knew the situation maybe more than he knew himself. Melissa smiled, a warm flush flowing through her body. She felt like taking Jared to bed, maybe on the washing machine. It was a temporary but powerful and fleeting thought, broken only by understanding that explanation of the past few days was a greater need. She intertwined her fingers in his, purposefully covering her remaining hand over their fingers to acknowledge their alliance. “Yes, let’s catch something.” She reached and cupped his cheek and followed with a small teasing circle around the cleft in her husband’s chin. Melissa’s flush returned, but she was reminded of Blaine. That was an unwelcome and surprising thought, so she forcibly pushed it out. In control again, Melissa rose from her seat and walked to the utility room exit, turning slowly to face Jared. “And destroy that thorn. I don’t care what you think. It killed Connor.”

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ared went to a ‘spy store’. He found a passive night vision camera which connected to a video recorder. A separate motion detector would trigger the system before feeding the video to the recorder. He decided that a ten minute recording after the end of any detection would be adequate. They went to bed the next night satisfied whether a rat, raccoon, or human came within five feet of the back door, they would have evidence of the unwelcome invasion. Both took a sleeping aid and set the alarm. They slept well and were instantly awake at the sound of the blaring radio station. They did not go to the bathroom for their wake up pee. They did not make coffee. They went immediately to the living room and sat by the television. A flash of white noise accompanied the start of the video which flickered with the green fuzziness of the night vision as the McNallys watched the entrance of Howler and Iris. They realized their mistake immediately. They should have brought the cats in from the barn. However, the cats’ behavior turned peculiar. Howler circled Iris, occasionally smelling the air around her backside, retreating to lick and purse his lips in a frenzied tic that opened his long teeth to the McNallys’ sight. He faced the camera and stared. Then he lunged at the lens. 41

CHAPTER FIVE Melissa laughed. Annoyed, Jared clicked the remote and fast-forwarded the video, periodically slowing when the cats moved, but no human face or body part scrolled into sight. “They’re just playing around,” suggested Melissa. “Face it. This is a wild goose chase.” “Let’s look at the rest of the video.” After another few minutes of feed, Jared stopped. Howler repeated the behavior, his face contorting as his whiskers and teeth moved in the same frenzied dance, head extended toward Iris. Iris lay on the deck, her tail swishing back and forth. The tom jumped Iris, grabbing her from behind with his paws in a wrestler’s pin. This move appeared playful and created another snicker from Melissa. Howler almost seemed to react to her, turning into the camera and growling, a sound unlike a lion, but also unlike any sound that either Jared or Melissa ever heard from a domesticated cat. The hair on the McNallys’ arms tingled. They were unprepared for what happened next. Howler forced Iris onto her back and though the female’s paws dug into his belly, the tom bit into Iris’s throat. He hugged her tighter and tighter, over-powering her struggles. Soon, small rivulets of blood were zipping around Howler’s torso and legs as Iris’s claws struck home again and again; but he did not release her. Melissa gasped, burying her head in Jared’s shoulders. Jared grabbed his wife’s shoulders in a bear hug. They stared hypnotically at the video as Howler uncoupled from Iris. Iris’s blood dripped from his maw, and his own blood dropped in small beads onto his female companion. His tongue whipped out and washed away the gore. With a final glance at the camera Howler jumped out of camera range. He left Iris in the mute and unmoving stance of death, her face contorted in the surprise and pain of her failure to escape. Jared turned away. He comforted Melissa with soft caresses to her hair though his actions were distracted. Despite Howler’s murder of his companion, how could their cat kill something as large as that fat raccoon without sustaining injuries of his own? For that matter how would the cat have dragged it up the steps to the veranda deck and back door? Jared took Melissa to bed. She did not release his shoulder until Jared pulled the covers around her neck, promising he would return. Melissa sniffled but knew what had to be done, and she did not want to participate. For that she was thankful for a husband who did what her father would have done for her. Jared went down to the deck and removed the evidence. He buried Iris close to Connor, then looked for Howler, but did not find him. Jared monitored Melissa closely that evening. He watched a football game but paid little attention to the action, his eyes flitting constantly to the stairs at the slightest sound, 42

Shadow of The Conjurer waiting for Melissa’s footsteps, maybe a walk to the refrigerator, or a brief hello to her spouse. Finally, Jared retreated to their bedroom where he found Melissa facing a wall, the nightstand lamp illuminating her unresponsive but wakeful form. He went to bed, read a magazine, and started on a book before taking a sleeping pill. Jared offered one to Melissa. Shortly after that, he rose to turn off her lamp, returned, and fell fitfully asleep.

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n Monday morning the workweek beckoned. They repeated the oddly synchronous dressing routine and walked to the utility room together. They started out the rear door. The growl began as the back door opened sixty of its ninety-degree pattern. The sound emerged from their rear deck but behind the door. Jared grabbed Melissa’s arm, stopping her from danger, but not before she saw its source. Melissa pulled back into the house, pointing toward the deck. Jared moved hesitantly around the door. It was a coyote, a big one, sixty or seventy pounds. It challenged Jared, snarling as it stood over Howler’s body. This was a message. Until Jared accepted the possibility of such, this thing would not move from the porch. If he did not accept it, then something larger might come for him next. After a stalemate of a few seconds, Jared nodded. The coyote relaxed, then slunk off the porch, turning back for one last look, one last growl. It bounded across their backyard and disappeared into the patchy woods below their home. Jared turned to Melissa, his hand over his mouth and chin, fighting for an explanation. “It must have been rabid.” “Oh, Jared! You’re such a predictable ass!” Melissa turned and ran into the recesses of their home for the comfort she could not find in her husband. Jared watched her fly up the stairs, back to the cocoon of her bedroom. He sighed, walked to his car, and left for the Arsenal.

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CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX Melissa called in sick after that disquieting weekend and its Monday morning climax. Jared phoned home several times. He was unaware she was worried about more than coyotes and dead cats. Melissa needed to understand her hot flashes. They did not fit the normal parameters. Instead of diminished sexual desire, hers seemed to increase. That wasn’t normal for menopause, was it? She did not think of herself as middle aged; and in the back of her mind children were still a possibility, even a desire. Consequently, she visited her gynecologist; but after an examination, he said she was simply on edge. He noted rare cases of women starting menopause in their mid-thirties, but he quickly pointed out that Melissa did not exhibit such traits. He led her out of the examination room with a reassuring hand on her shoulder, telling her to see him again in six weeks if it continued. The quiet drive home gave Melissa time to think. Out of the blue, maybe due to the peaceful drive that so contrasted with the dark emotions of the last days, Melissa found her attention on her biological clock. She suddenly felt that the death of their pets and the other strange events could be addressed only by new life. She needed a baby. She and Jared were clicking, much like the earlier years. Melissa needed to, no, must talk to Jared about this. Love to combat death. Her decision resulted in a warmness that plummeted quickly from her diaphragm to her inner thighs.

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ared’s world was a scientific ‘show me the evidence’ universe connected to a doubting Thomas inclination. He was good with data, with connecting the dots. Meditation might help others, but his mind was calmed by organizing information.

Shadow of The Conjurer He jotted notes on the incident in the graveyard. Maybe someone watched Connor dig in the grave of a family member. Scaring the McNallys seemed an extreme reaction, but many a family’s closet held the private tragedy of mental illness. The revenge angle made sense, except that if one were so minded, they would surely be inclined to maintain the gravesite. More preposterous were the dead animals and pets, all trumped by the killer coyote with the calculating eyes of intelligence. It struck him to examine the background of the cemetery and the old plantation. Original owner was who? Yeah, Thompson. Jared could trace the deed through the county property records to identify how the plantation started. To be a wealthy landowner of that time the Thompsons would have owned several thousand acres of property. He culled his memory, scavenging for other tidbits, but came up with nothing, other than a last jot, ‘ghosts?’ Who would have believed that? Jared felt it ironic that a man like himself, an agnostic at best, was asking such questions.

“I

’ve had the most exciting day,” said Jared.

Melissa was guarded, more circumspect, strange since both were in opposite character of their normal disposition. Of course Jared was excited by any puzzle that challenged his mind, but this time it appeared as if the project might also excite Melissa. “Well, let me hear yours first,” said Melissa. After all, persuasion did not need a competitor. Jared must exhaust his enthusiasm so he was prepared for her proposal. “I’m investigating the history of the old plantation.” Melissa frowned. “How is that going to help?” Jared crowded closer. “If a history survives, it won’t be about the slaves unless a business ledger from the Thompsons survives. The likely history will be about the Thompsons.” “The Thompsons?” “You remember. The previous owner told us the plantation was built by a family named Thompson.” Melissa tried to recollect. “Okay. I just didn’t remember their names.” “Anyway, I went to the courthouse to look at the property records. I confirmed the family’s name was Thompson,” said Jared, smiling and looking very pleased. 45

CHAPTER SIX Melissa raised her hands in a ‘so what’ pantomime. “How does that helps us? The problem started in the slave graveyard. If you wanted proof, go to the Thompson cemetery, instead of going to the courthouse.” Jared appeared a little hurt since he anticipated Melissa’s excitement. “Well, I traced it to its original sale in 1817 to a Malachi Thompson. Then it was transferred to a Jeremiah Thompson, probably his son. That may or may not be important, but do you have anything better?” “Jared. Dear Jared. You can be so obtuse sometimes. I wasn’t putting you down or deriding your discovery. I just want to know how it helps us, silly boy.” “Sorry. I can get pouty sometimes.” “You think? Just explain what you plan on doing. I’m all ears. Really.” Jared spent a few minutes discussing his logic. Someone was watching them when Connor dug in the grave, upset at the desecration. Someone was responsible for a dangerous practical joke, someone with a vendetta in mind. Melissa listened patiently, her face mirroring disbelief in Jared’s drive for a logical explanation. Melissa simply reminded him of the huge hole in his logic. Howler the killer tomcat murdered by a killer coyote. “Well, yeah, there’s that,” Jared sidestepped. “But if we find anything about the slaves, it will come from the Thompsons. The Thompsons were wealthy. History on them has to exist.” “And?” “There was a local, a civil war historian, noted in the papers recently. Raymond. Rayburn or something. He or someone like him might know something or whether an ancestor lives in the area. If details exist, the Thompsons would have recorded it. No one else would.” Melissa leaned toward Jared and kissed him softly. “Jared. That’s good. I did not think of that, but you did,” she said both in appreciation and flattery. “I know it sounds crazy, but it may be our only rational lead.” Jared coiled his arm around his wife. “I want you to know I am doing this for us, not you, not me, for us. If we have some type of proof, maybe, just maybe we can get some help. We need believers if we want protectors.” Melissa pulled Jared close. She wrapped both arms tightly around his back with her head on his shoulder, hugged once and then again for appreciation. Then she kissed him deeply for pleasure, knowing that her husband was difficult at times, drove her crazy at times, but was the man she had forgotten but not lost. A dependable man. A keeper. Melissa gazed deeply into his eyes, wanting her universe to be his universe, wondering how 46

Shadow of The Conjurer she could ever forget who he was. She took him for granted because her attention span was short when it came to love. Melissa Faraday McNally was one of the legions who forget until it is lost. “I love you. I don’t say that enough,” she said. “I wish I could be like you, but it is not the way I’m built.” Melissa tenderly touched his lips to quiet him. “I know,” she said in between brief kisses. “I know. I remember your letters. They were silly, but so sweet.” Jared momentarily turned red but remained silent. “Don’t be embarrassed. They were so you. You never said ‘I love you’ until you said it in a letter. Funny. Your emotions were almost a report ending in a conclusion and recommendation. It was frustrating at times, but I knew you cared.” He nodded. “I miss that sweet touch, honey. A woman needs to hear it. I…we have let things slip. We’ve both forgot what brought us together.” Pausing to collect her thoughts, her eyes swiveled to the floor before returning to Jared. “Jared. We need to move to another level.” She paused again, gathering courage to say it. “We need to start a family.” She let that sink in. ‘Uh, oh’ she thought, ‘he blinked’. “Well?” she prodded. “Melissa, I’ve never said I did not want kids. But we put it off so long. And now? Now doesn’t seem like the right time. Do you mean later, like after all of this is finished?” Melissa wondered whether she should tell him the truth. Why couldn’t she wait? Seemed reasonable. But no, those urges. They needed satisfying. They weren’t menopause. The doctor said so. But they were a sign. It had to be now, not later. Starting today, she would give him the best sex, the best love their companionship ever experienced. Only that would stave off what was in front of them. They would be one. “Jared. I mean now.” Jared’s brow furrowed. He pulled back, looked her straight in the eye. “That’s crazy. And you know it’s crazy.” Melissa pushed him away with a petulant shove. “I’m crazy? The craziness is what has been going on. Something has to change.” Jared’s stubbornness kicked in. “Melissa, I didn’t say no. I’m saying wait.” Melissa rose from the sofa, hands on her hips. “I should have known. You’re using this as an excuse. You do not understand commitment. I’m not sure you ever did. You don’t want children. God, now that I think of it, I’m not sure I do.” She turned toward him. “They might be like you!” 47

CHAPTER SIX Jared’s head shook as if he was trying to remove the cobwebs of disbelief. “A moment ago you said you love me. What’s this? The stress is talking.” “I need…we need a sign of unity. Now!” “We need to figure out what is behind this sudden unexpected urge.” Melissa gave in only to the point of not shouting, not saying that Jared was betraying her need. She sat down next to him on the sofa, pushed him back on the sofa arms, and planted her lips on his while groping him, angrily trying to elicit passion to satisfy her need. Jared pushed her off. “What’s going on with you, Mel? I’ve got to get out of here and clear my mind. You need to clear yours too.” With a huff he walked a few steps and turned. “I’m going to the slave cemetery. I know it is dark, but I’m going to check for anything we might have missed.” She did not reply, so Jared walked away. Melissa’s anger simmered then bubbled to a pop. She needed. Needed it bad. Not for a moment did she ask why. She rose from the sofa, grabbed the glass of wine she poured earlier and drained it. Focusing her anger, she threw the glass against the wall, shattering it into so many pieces, so many icy shards of sharp emotion. She remembered Blaine was available. He wanted her, even if Jared didn’t. Blaine was beside himself with need for her. That image was delicious. Melissa paused, trembling. Reality returned, releasing the urge, vaporizing it as her mind guiltily realized the misstep in her thinking. A few minutes ago, she was on top of the world. What was happening to her? She felt so alone as she plopped into a recliner and released a torrent of sorrowful emotion.

J

ared stormed out of the house, pulling on a jacket to combat the evening chill. He grabbed a heavy-duty flashlight. For the entire four hundred yards to the cemetery Jared built his anxiety with ‘why and why me’ repetitions. A baby? Should he get Melissa some help, or would she blab about the inconsistencies in this weird puzzle and force him to lie? How could he think of a baby, even later? Jared paused at the pathway into the overgrown and decaying graveyard. Winter approached. The greenery faded, replaced with scraggly trees that appeared to pull at you with dark bony fingers, painted with dark imaginary faces. Jared turned on the flashlight. They were just trees, some dead, some alive, but culled, less noticeable. He waved the flashlight to find the right grave. All of them appeared the same, shallow depressions, most covered with ivy or some kind of ground cover. 48

Shadow of The Conjurer He walked in circles, finally highlighting a single grave, somewhat to itself, but different in that its groundcover was lifeless and brown. He could still make out the tossed clods of dirt and debris, a long rake of black dirt, devoid of material, near the top and middle of the grave. Furthermore, what stood out in the heart of the raked area was a long crack of ice. Jared moved to the edge of the grave, reaching out to touch the hard and rimy substance. Before his fingers touched anything solid, they registered the cold. The warm air in his breath reached out, suddenly coalescing into cloudy and rolling tendrils of visibility. Jared pulled back his hand, verbalizing to no one but himself. “What the hell!” He took time to breathe purposefully, the fog materializing with each expelled lungful. He walked backwards a few steps and blew again. Nothing. His eyes shifted to the grave. It was quiet (or stagnant?), but the hairs on his arm rose at the thought he was being watched. He glanced quickly beyond the trees into the pale light of the pasture. The coyote? Nothing. “Get it together, Jared.” His organized mind took over, relieving his emotions. Again, he talked aloud. “I’ve got a thermometer somewhere.” Jared loped from the cemetery, unafraid when science and discovery beckoned. He returned carrying the gauge. He had checked it first on the deck as he watched it slowly lower from a warm seventy degrees in the utility room to a much cooler fifty outside. He knew from the weather report it would cool to mid-thirties overnight. No freezing temperatures predicted. He checked the entrance to the cemetery. Forty-seven. Jared walked to the edge of the grave and waved the gauge over the center as his breath again materialized in silvery wisps. He gave it a few seconds. Thirty-six. He lowered the flashlight’s steady beam until it covered the entire grave and a little shadowy area on each side. Jared stabbed the gauge into the ground, covered his knees with his arms and waited. Another couple of minutes later he reached out and examined the gauge. “Oh my God,” he said to himself and repeated the numbers he saw but did not believe. “Twentynine degrees.” Jared rose, thinking he would Google for explanation. The beam caught a jagged edge of incongruent matter sticking out in the middle of the grave, slightly covered at one uneven corner with ice. He stooped again, reached but stopped an inch above the object, wary. Jared plucked at the material and a tiny piece tore away. He pointed the beam with his left hand and turned the material with his right. Leather. Thick and somewhat brittle leather. How could leather, if it was as old as he thought, not have decayed into the soil? With caution he brushed away the soil and forced his fingers into the cold earth, moving the dirt like a backhoe underneath the protruding object. He was careful not to destroy or rip the material. It came loose in a few seconds, his hand lifting up and softly shaking away the extraneous debris and soil, careful to protect the article in his hand. Jared brought it 49

CHAPTER SIX closer. It was a small leather bag, flattened by age and dirt, but clearly something buried with the grave. The bag had a small hole in its center, not from the piece he had torn away. He opened it and reached tentatively inside. Nothing. He pulled out his hand. Sticking like glitter to his fingers was a silvery powder that sparkled in the beam of the flashlight. He used a stick to poke in the grave again. He found nothing more. Jared examined his trophy before placing it in a jacket pocket. He headed back to the house with more unanswered questions, but a new piece of the puzzle securely in his hand awaiting his scrutiny. Jared stopped at the barn and went to the tack room, placing the bag at the bottom of an old cabinet. Melissa used this room, but the dusty cabinet was rarely opened. He would remove the bag soon. A friend at an arsenal lab could tell him what was inside.

J

ared was back in the house a few minutes later. He pulled a beer from the refrigerator. Moseying into the living room, he found Melissa with broom and dustpan in hand, cleaning up glass. “What happened?”

Melissa stopped. “I broke one of our good crystal goblets.” She paused. “I’m sorry this evening went the way it did. I guess I’m a little exhausted from all of this. I hope you will understand.” “Of course,” replied Jared unconvincingly. “Did you find anything?” “Nothing of importance. Look. I was abrupt. It’s just talk of children at this moment is inappropriate. After this is over we can talk.” Jared watched for a sign of acceptance. Melissa looked at the floor, twirling the broom, but nodding. “Will you help me run down some information on the Thompsons? Maybe talk with that guy in the papers.” “Sure. But Jared, tonight, I’m just beat. And I need you. I’m not looking for sex. I don’t know where that was coming from,” she confessed in truth but with some uncertainty. “I want to go to bed. With you. I want you to hold me for awhile. I’m sure I’ll be asleep within fifteen minutes, and then you can go…where ever.” Jared put the beer on a coffee table and put his arms around his wife. “Forget the glass. I’ll clean it after you’re asleep.” They sauntered slowly to the stairs and up to their bedroom, problem postponed for now in a semblance of peace.

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CHAPTER SEVEN Melissa took a sleeping pill and hugged Jared tightly during the night, hoping the closeness would take the edge away. She slept fitfully. Finally, afraid she was keeping Jared awake, she moved into the guest bedroom where she tossed and turned until the breaking light of the morning. At that point she brewed an especially strong pot of coffee and poured all of it into her body before Jared hit the floor at 6:45. She satiated an unusual hunger with three eggs, a yogurt, grapefruit, hash browns, bacon, sausage, and toast, ending with a bowl of ice cream. Melissa would have thought she was pregnant, but she knew she was not. Just nerves. Jared consoled Melissa about her loss of sleep, but his body language clearly demonstrated the real issue was his ill-disguised concern over her state of mind. Her half smile of reassurance from the caffeine-induced injection of energy almost pulled off a mask of normalcy. Melissa’s brain was on autopilot during the drive to work, hardly registering the swarms of busy office workers ready to start their day. She felt in disarray, a feeling of emptiness swamping her usual professional demeanor, dissatisfaction spoiling her ability to work, much less her willingness. An hour into her day came the crash, the fatigue shifting between yawns, droopy eyelids, and a crushing need to lay her head on her desk. But the tension stood her at attention at every sleepy nod of her foggy brain. Melissa glanced at the piles of legal reviews and folders. They made her dizzy, flaming a feeling of insurmountable odds. The itch of that unseen foe scratched at her reserve of calm. A knock on her door roused her, followed by Blaine Harvey’s smile, a cautious submission from the few weeks of his exile. His flashy tie swung pendulum-like through the crack in the door. 51

CHAPTER SEVEN “What do you want?” said Melissa with a deep tone of skepticism, claws ready. “I’m busy and don’t need your crap.” “Hey, it’s business.” Blaine flashed the smile even wider, the white teeth gleaming and his eyes reflecting surrender. “It better be. I told you. We’re through.” “Yeah, sure, but you’re our attorney on this contract claim.” “You didn’t schedule this, and I’m behind.” “Got to give a status at staff call. They’re working next year’s budget and need to know whether this is something that has to be factored.” Melissa angrily motioned him to the side of her desk. She pulled at a drawer and thumbed for the file while Blaine fidgeted. “Noticed you didn’t bring anything to write on. Seems counterproductive to me,” Melissa noted as she pulled the file. “Wasn’t sure I would find you here. You have a pad and pencil?” “Your phone not working?” “I was in the complex.” “Hmm. Must be nice to have an answer for everything.” “Maybe I am an asshole. Maybe I failed to show you I cared. It’s over. I know. But even an asshole has some feelings.” Blaine reached for her hand before Melissa could move it away. “And this asshole knows he made a mistake that can’t be fixed. Regrets that mistake more than you will ever know.” “Charming,” replied Melissa with superficial ice, as a sudden flush of heat ran through her body at the moment her eyes met Blaine’s. As she moved her hand away, she almost swore an arc of purple electricity passed from her hand to his. And though she fought the urge, Melissa beamed in satisfaction. The satisfaction was transparent to Blaine. “That’s cold, girl. That’s okay. I deserved it.” Blaine could not help himself. He had to touch her again. He reached out and stroked her once, softly with his index finger, slowly from the inside of her elbow to her wrist. Melissa did not move, but her eyes watched the movement. And God help her, she enjoyed it. Her pulse quickened, and her breath shortened. Belying the certainty in her voice, Blaine knew in those few seconds that the relationship was not dead. He would have tried more if they had not been in her office. He would have tried more, except that he was briefly startled at what he saw. Couldn’t have 52

Shadow of The Conjurer seen. Her eyes. They flashed a red phosphorescence. Momentarily. Like a wave and with flecks of gold around the edges to sharpen it. First one eye, then the other. And at the moment they returned to the beautiful blue he was used to, the phone rang, breaking the spell. Melissa punched the speaker phone. “Melissa McNally, Intellectual Property.” “Ms. McNally, I’m John Thompson, attorney with Radar Dynamics. Like to talk to you about our patent claim against the government on the MR2 program. Believe you are familiar with it.” Melissa’s mind did not focus on MR2. The name brought her back. Thompson. The Thompson family. Their Thompson family. Jared wanted her to talk to that professor. Sam Rayburn. “Ms. McNally. Are you there?” Melissa recovered. “Yes, Mr. Thompson. You’re lucky. I have the engineer on the case in my office, Mr. Blaine Harvey.” Melissa reached over and patted Blaine on the arm and smiled. Blaine smiled also but did not take his eyes off hers until Thompson started talking.

T

hat night Jared and Melissa sat around the skeletal remains of pizza bones, wine cork, and an empty bottle of Chilean Maipo Valley Cabernet Sauvignon. Melissa pulled a mango from the refrigerator. Jared picked at the browned and oily cheese remnants lying atop the crusts and popped them slowly into his mouth along with sporadic sips of the remaining wine. Melissa brought a knife and cutting board for the fruit, the sheen glistening from the condensed moisture on its colorful skin. She sliced the mango from its tough center, periodically licking the sugary juice from her fingers. She talked of her meeting with Professor Rayburn while taking fleeting glances of Jared. Jared grunted short ‘uh huhs’ as agreement with her or a short ‘I don’t know’, implying some tangential listening to the conversation. “What’s wrong? You’ve made little comment on my Rayburn meeting, and it was your idea.” Jared twirled a pizza crust in his hand while panning it with quiet observation. “Connor would have liked these. Whenever we had pizza, he got a piece and the crusts. Remember?” “Is this belated mourning or something else?” Jared examined Melissa seriously as if examining her from afar. “You really enjoyed your food tonight. I had two pieces of pizza. You ate the rest of one and made another. 53

CHAPTER SEVEN Now fruit. You drank a bottle of wine. You’re alert and asking questions about my solemnity. But yes. I miss Connor.” “I think you would be happy I have my hunger back. I was depressed during the holidays. I’m happy I’m better. Aren’t you?” “Yes, definitely.” “Then, how about a little more than nods and ‘I don’t know’.” “Why did we have wine with pizza? Seems a little snooty. Good beer is better for pizza any day and is hugely American.” Melissa cut an apple. “Changing the subject again?” “No. Well, maybe not, but maybe yes.” “Well, for the ‘maybe not’ we have had this bottle for over a year. It needed drinking. It’s good quality and strong enough to go with pizza punch to punch. And for the record no one stopped you from drinking a beer. For the ‘maybe yes’, what do you think about Rayburn?” “Well, the positive development is his corroboration and expansion on what I found. We know a fire destroyed the old plantation in 1875. But the biggest surprise was the photos of the Thompson family and the house. That blew me away, even more than finding Thompson descendents in the area.” “Those digital copies gave me tingles, especially the house. I began to envision our home next to it, as if I was checking its worthiness as a successor. I’m looking forward to talking to the Thompson descendent.” “Emma Anderson?” “Yeah, I was surprised the family is a shell of what they used to be. Dr. Rayburn said Emma is a spinster. She has a small house in Five Points.” “I suspect no Thompson gives a lick about any dead and wealthy ancestor, much less about their slaves,” scoffed Jared. “But let’s gut it out. Though frankly, I’m disappointed Rayburn had nothing else.” “You told me that you would be surprised to find anything specific about the slaves and that our only recourse was through the Thompsons. I don’t understand why you are so…so suddenly unappreciative of the Thompson line’s existence.” “Maybe someone is trying to make us so uncomfortable that we sell our place.” Melissa put down the paring knife. “Jared. We’ve talked about this. Some thing, not someone.” “We could be over reacting. No more little gifts on the back porch.” 54

Shadow of The Conjurer “Yes, nothing new on the ‘dead-animal-on-the-porch’ scene. That whole business was freaking weird and impossible to explain. And that doesn’t count Connor. He should not have died from that infection. You get rid of that thorn like I asked?” Caught surprised, Jared stuttered. “Well…yeah. I said I would.” Melissa examined him a moment before starting again. “So maybe in this case the explanation has something to do with things you refuse to contemplate because it doesn’t fit the orderly mind Jared McNally has carried since birth. Jared, I’ll use your engineer lingo. You have to start thinking out-of-the-box.” “I am thinking out-of-the-box. Why would I have asked you to see Rayburn in the first place if I wasn’t willing to think out-of-the-box?” Melissa shook her head in frustration. “You are like a little kid. You restate over and over your original justification for not picking up the garage because you found spiders in the corners as if the adults will at some point agree to your illogical justification for not doing what the parent directed. Jared, you clean up the garage when you sweep away the spiders. Don’t you get it?” “That metaphor is completely out of whack.” “Okay, bright boy, what about Howie and the coyote? How do you explain that? You have Iris’ death on film, for God’s sake!” “It is not on film. It’s digital.” Melissa brought both of hands up in frustration. “You can be such an ass! I know the difference between acetone and digital. Nobody, no one, could train our cat to snuff Iris for our personal entertainment, much less add a crazed coyote to the mix. Don’t spout idiotic diatribe about a black man or woman leaving dead animals at our back door!” “Do not confuse my need for a logical explanation with unwillingness to examine the illogical. You must understand me to understand why something orderly should explain this.” “I really do,” responded Melissa. “Maybe it’s time we go to the police.” “We would be the laughing stock of the Madison County Sheriff’s Department.” “Then what do we do?” “We look for more pieces to the puzzle. We look for a needle in a haystack and talk to Emma Anderson.” “I’ll talk to Emma. An old woman will most likely trust another female. And to be honest, Jared, your social skills need a little finesse.” 55

CHAPTER SEVEN “I’ll give you some questions to ask. Then depending on the answer she gives, you follow it with a different one. Kind of like a decision tree.” “Jared, we are not analyzing some radar waveform problem. Let me handle it. I...have…been…to…law school. They teach you to communicate. Trust someone else for a change, especially when that someone else is your wife.” Jared appeared to surrender with a soft nod of the head. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. Unfortunately and to my sometime detriment, I just trust myself more. We’re looking for a needle in a haystack. A miscue can set us back. It’s a difficult problem. It’s…” Melissa reached out with her hand, pressing Jared’s lips and stopping him in midsentence. “It’s in good hands,” she said. Slowly, Melissa removed her fingers from his lips, then gripped both sides of the collar of his shirt, pulling him to her, her eyes upturned and the shadows highlighting her lovely almond-shaped face. Just before she turned off the light switch, Melissa kissed him. He accepted her embrace, hardly remembering the blow up a few days before.

B

laine Harvey grimaced as he gulped down heavy espresso. He had not slept well the past week, and it worsened once he cornered Melissa in her office. He had been dreaming surreal flashes of something watching him from a mirror, the mirror edges glowing in a tinge of purple corniced with gold. What was with that? Now combined with his lethargy were the splitting headaches, ones that seemed to suck the little energy he had left. His mind was being drained, was being taken away for examination and cataloging. He snorted a short laugh to break the tension. Blaine’s last thought before readying for the day’s labor was his hand being pulled to a blinking light, almost a safety button on a piece of industrial equipment. The button flashed purple. That was the reason for the uncomfortable laugh. It was so fucking ridiculous. An emergency button flashes red.

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CHAPTER EIGHT Jared waved at Melissa as she drove away, his façade masking his inability to understand the previous torrid night. Jared could not remember her being such an animal in bed, rationalizing her conduct and his acceptance as a break in the tension. He knew what was coming after that kiss in the kitchen. He welcomed it only after excusing himself beforehand to brush his teeth. To his relief she was using her birth control pills. Preoccupied, Jared watched television with little interest. He opened his laptop email to gaze at the message he received yesterday from his friend at the chemical lab, the enigmatic report adding to his subdued behavior. The leather bag held ground and decomposed carbon-based chemicals, most likely the remnants of dried tissue. The detailed analysis enlarged the mystery because the dried particles were a collage of high-density lipoproteins, amino acids, and nucleotides which in the variations found indicated the dried tissue was placental in nature. The final mystery was the microscopic silver flakes dispersed throughout the material in such a homogeneous manner that the report concluded at one time the composite material was a liquid emulsion which uniformly dispersed the components. The mystery validated his decision to keep Melissa in the dark. He had lied about the thorn’s destruction and told Melissa nothing of the existence of the bag.

M

elissa sipped strong coffee as she drove the few miles to Huntsville on that cold but bright Saturday morning. She managed to get through the holidays with Jared and family, her anxiety and suppressed resentment boating in seas of wide smiles, her bitterness hidden in Jack Daniels-infused eggnog. What surprised her was that after the holidays many of the cobwebs of uncertainty and of fear disappeared. The hot flashes subsided the closer she came to Emma’s visit. Melissa honestly 57

CHAPTER EIGHT felt that a turning point was arriving; and she was very satisfied and confident, regardless of the misgivings of her eternally pessimistic husband. At breakfast Jared asked to accompany her. Melissa would have been inclined to agree. However, he handed her the detailed list of questions for Emma. Anger reddened her face and her response was curt. Jared predictably backed off. With one hand on the wheel she glanced at his typed sheet. Melissa balled it up, laying it on the leather passenger seat of her gray Audi. After a few seconds of misgivings she retrieved the list and smoothed it out. She took the last gulp of coffee. After trashing the cup, she lifted the list and examined the questions. Nothing new here, including the lack of trust in her capability to do the smallest thing on her own. Melissa seethed, especially the more she glanced at the list. So she rolled down the window and tossed the sheet out, litter or not. It was a fifteen-minute ride to Huntsville. Melissa crossed onto Rison Avenue, named after a general manager of the abandoned Dallas Mill, in the early 1900s the largest cotton mill in Alabama. The area was a self-contained and bustling community with schools and churches, small restaurants, and a YMCA. The Mill even built its employees small but solid homes. However, when it closed in 1949, the area accelerated in decline until young Arsenal and defense contractor families came to town, hankering for a refill of the past with the conveniences of the present. The homes were often touched by entrepreneurial success with modern improvements that increased property values while maintaining the adornment of an age passed. But the mix was not without failures as demonstrated in superficial remodeling jobs that hid pipes waiting to burst, foundations about to crumble, and floors succumbing to years of disregard. Emma’s home was a bungalow, an anachronism of the Mill age, a long and narrow home, one room wide but several rooms deep. It was neither remodeled, nor rundown. The window to the front room was cloudy with condensation, reflecting a warm interior, single pane windows, and a large utility bill. The small house was kept at high temperature to ward off the cold of age of both the old home and the old woman. The porch screen hid its beautiful walnut entry door. Melissa noticed her heartbeat quickening as she reached for the brass knocker. After a couple of raps the door opened a few inches. From Melissa’s perspective the porch roof cut shadows into the old lady, leaving a brilliant sun to illuminate the right side of a drab and sun-faded skirt that surged down to a short fat calf and heavy ankle that overflowed her white low-heel pumps. Emma Anderson’s right arm and hand hugged the edge of the door; but her round and chubby face emerged from behind her walnut barrier to reveal a pleasant smile framed by shiny white teeth, probably dentures as they appeared too perfect. 58

Shadow of The Conjurer Melissa was surprised by her sudden feeling of comfort, a feeling almost familial, like a favorite cousin who suddenly appears, making you realize what you forgot in an instant. The old woman opened the door and almost shouted in a shrill and full voice. “You must be Melissa McNally. I’m Emma, and I’m so glad to finally meet you. Please, please come in. It’s freezing out there. You’ll catch your death of cold, and I won’t be far behind.” Melissa entered and glanced around the room. It held a lounger, a coffee table, and an exquisite but worn sofa, a renaissance style, the fabric appearing roughened and patchy, holes covered by lace. A relic of a television was ensconced in a wiry stand whose feet and trays held an assortment of battered magazines. In the far corner leading to a dining area was a triangular curio stand filled with different trinkets and small ornamental plates advertising national parks. Interesting to Melissa was the occasional antique black and white photos of likely Thompson descendants, the photos clearly early twentieth century. Larger ones also took prestigious places on the living room walls. Undoubtedly, Emma was in some. They included a man and woman with a baby, the same adults with a small girl, and then the same aging couple but with a young woman looking like an earlier version of Emma. All of this Melissa caught in the moments while Emma made excuses for the clutter and hurriedly moved an empty plate and glass to the next room. Melissa followed her into the dining area and stopped. Stunned. Emma motioned Melissa back to the living room, jabbering away, pointing to her prized and comfortable lounger. Melissa was firewalled and did not hear. In front of her, holding Melissa hostage, was a painting enclosed in a gold-lacquered frame. It was the Plantation, the same house captured in the old photo shown her by Sam Rayburn. Melissa leaned partly on the small oak dining table, her hand unhurriedly moving to cover her mouth, as she stared enraptured by this sudden grasping of a shared history. Emma noted Melissa’s captivation, surprised by her apparent recognition of the old home. She walked back to the dining room, taking Melissa’s arm, moving her around the dining table toward the painting. “I see you recognize my family’s old home, Fiery Hill. Ironic that name. Fire did it in. But fire of a different kind did in our family, the ‘War Between the States’, you know. Apparently, Jeremiah and Sarah saw the land for the first time in the autumn of 1818. Back then it was a fairly wild country, nothing but trees and brush. You can imagine. But the family tradition is they stopped because that one hill, unlike the area around it, overlooked a lonely field with a path along its edge leading to the Flint River. Had to be an Indian or deer trail. Supposedly, the sunset was striking and complemented the vivid red and yellow of the autumn leaves in a manner that struck them as one immense fire, a magnificent fire. They knew their home had to lie there. Before winter they had a two-room dugout. Then 59

CHAPTER EIGHT they started building Fiery Hill. Of course it wasn’t as elaborate at first. But later it was beautiful.” “And the name is so appropriate. The sunsets toward Huntsville are remarkable. It gives me goose bumps to see this painting. This is a gorgeous canvas. You must have great pride in the old home for it to be the centerpiece of this room.” It was Emma’s turn to be mesmerized by the painting, but in a more contemplative manner. “I do have great pride in that house…in our family. We are so far removed from that olden time. I would like to have known my ancestors as real people and not old photographs staring somberly beyond us. Disconnected. Not seeing us. I would like to feel they know us, would support us even as we are, you know…not the same anymore.” “Professor Rayburn at the university has a digital photo of the plantation. That is what stopped me. Seeing Fiery Hill in color made it come to life. I don’t remember a lot from my art history in college, but this has an impressionist flavor of vivid color and heavy brushstrokes. The way the painter brought out shadows and postured the gardens and oaks around the main house makes the color even more imposing. American painters were latecomers with this, certainly did not use it in what? 1850?” “Probably,” said Emma. “The painting was handed down through several generations. After the fire, my family became involved in the mill business, not as owners, but just plain mill workers. It was an alternative to poverty. Our ginned cotton went to the old Bell Factory Mill in its hey-day. In fact your property is only a few miles from the old mill site. After it shut down, we moved to Huntsville when they opened Dallas Mill. This house was in the first group built around the new mill, and it has been in my family since 1895. My great grandfather was one of its first foremen.” “This makes me feel warm inside…like kicking a forgotten memory.” “Though I never lived there, I can almost feel the memory too. So Professor Rayburn has a photo of Fiery Hill?” “Yes, though he never called it Fiery Hill.” “I’m not sure how well that name is known. Seems the fire erased more than the building and the family. I have photos also. Of the estate and the family.” Melissa’s interest spiked quickly. “Can I see them?” “Definitely. But I must warn you. I really have two homes here, the front for the few visitors I have and the back which is…cluttered.” “I’m just glad to find you so open about all of this. If you prefer, I can wait in the living room. You can bring me whatever you’d like. I understand the need for privacy.” 60

Shadow of The Conjurer “Most of what I have is in an old trunk, and it would take several trips to bring things to the front. I don’t even let my church friends back there. You promise you won’t snicker?” “Never.” “Then, let’s get crackin’. I have trouble throwing things…my treasures…away.” The women laughed quietly at the awkward joke, and Emma escorted Melissa through the long bungalow. Melissa was impressed with the glance of the small bathroom with the antique porcelain and iron tub. The kitchen was small but orderly, an old gas range giving the room a quaint atmosphere. But the worried glimpse Emma gave her and a soft sigh emitted as she reached for the door to the back of the house was a giveaway that things would change. “I really do pride myself in keeping a nice tidy feel to my home. But I was a child of the Depression.” “Emma, I am not judgmental.” It was helpful that the door opened toward them, instead of toward the bedroom. As soon as they passed the doorframe, both women began the maneuver around various boxes of hidden items, old clothes, and stacks of magazines and books, including a large collection of National Geographic. There was even a large box filled with board games in one corner. The open closet was brimming with dresses, and the floor was covered with various sandals and shoes. None were more than thrift shop quality, but Emma had her pick of winter or summer, spring or fall. The bed was made, the only source of order in the room. Melissa wondered how Emma moved to the other side to pull the fitted sheet over the mattress. The dresser was overrun with small perfume bottles and various signs of makeup and brushes. Color photos of what were apparently family members decorated the edge of the dresser mirror. That was the first room. The next room was a second bedroom. It had a small twin bed with a nightstand hugging the corner, assuming one could get there. An old table and several stacked chairs. A worn lounger, obviously the predecessor of the recent addition to the living room. And that was just the furniture. More clothes, including coats. A stack of old blankets, including some nice handmade quilts. Emma had a doll collection, heads peering out of boxes while legs and arms protruded here and there. Cobwebs dotted the corners and hung ghostlike. Emma stopped for a moment, hands on her hips. “Let me see. I need to get to this wall,” she said to herself. After removing a few belongings, the trunk was visible. It was a nineteenth century travel trunk. The musty trunk was dome topped, leather covered, and elaborately designed and constructed for its time. It revealed a myriad of velvet-lined and tattered compartments holding various family heirlooms, trinkets, and photos. Melissa bent 61

CHAPTER EIGHT over the trunk to view the contents as Emma reached for a couple of the stacked wicker chairs, moving things so their chairs could sit beside the trunk. They spent the next hour rummaging through the top layer of articles. There was a large and old family bible. It revealed the lineage through the generations of Thompsons, ending with the last entries of great and greater grandchildren who branched off through generations with names like Freeman and Clark. Emma pointed to the entries she made of more recent family members. Emma pulled out old scarves, infant christening outfits stale with age, lockets of hair, broaches including some with miniature gem photos, and jewelry. The trinkets were of an older style, certainly in the nineteenth or early twentieth century. One business ledger of unknown utility was found to satisfy Jared. In between she talked of her ancestors although most of her stories involved those in the cotton mill business. Emma had funny stories and sad stories, like those sleeping in the hearts and minds of most families. They make us who we are and give us identity, strength, and calm. Melissa listened and enjoyed each one, in some ways jealous because of the absence of brothers or sisters and a strong mother in her own life. Melissa’s patience was rewarded. Emma left the best for last. The old woman opened the large compartment on the right side of the trunk. It was the photos. They were in a neat bundle bound with ribbon. The daguerreotypes were partly covered in an old rag that protected them from further deterioration. They were in remarkable condition for their age. Emma laid out the photos, the women discussing each. There was a photo of Fiery Hill. The family pictures included variations of Rayburn’s with the names of family members and a date, September 1857, one being of Jeremiah and Sarah, his wife, the others variations with the children. Three were of the home from different angles, including one from the pasture below that looked up to the columned home. Melissa mentioned Rayburn had more information on the family tree including Malachi, Jeremiah’s father, and Malachi’s ancestors. Unexpectedly, Emma reached over and hugged Melissa at the news and then ran out of the room to get a pad and pencil. During this interlude Melissa discovered the photos of the slaves. One was of a barn with three slaves, one on a wagon filled with cotton and the other two holding the bridles of the mules. Melissa’s heart beat a little quicker because in barely legible print was ‘Mathias prepares cotton for market in Huntsville with help of Tom and Old Bill’. The last photo showed several slaves, including families of men, women, and children posed before what appeared to be their quarters, various small, probably dirt-floored, one-room houses, chickens dotting the landscape around them. 62

Shadow of The Conjurer At that moment Emma returned. “Found a pen! Who was before Malachi? Were they in South Carolina also?” “I’m sorry, Emma. You left so quick. I should have explained Professor Rayburn gave us a file, but it’s a digital file. Do you have a computer?” “I don’t know about computers. My nephew has one, a fancy game computer, a Pee or Wee or something?” Melissa giggled. “Touché. No, I don’t have a Wee or a Pee. I guess a computer is kind of generational, isn’t it?” “I don’t even know how to type. Give me a real newspaper, not a screen that I have to manipulate with that…that rat thing. Mouse somethin’. I’m proud to say I’m stubborn. And I hate how everything is changing. So how do I get that information?” “I’ll figure it out. I was looking at the photos of the slaves. Did you know our property includes the old slave cemetery?” “Never discussed much by my great grandpap. I would like to see it some time.” “So you don’t know anything about the slave cemetery? Anything at all about Jeremiah and his relationship with the slaves?” “I knew of the cemetery. That’s about it. You have to remember that my great grandfather was a child during the Lost Cause. He had no memory of the slave times. But a couple of them, Mathias and his wife, Josey, stayed on after the war. They were there until the house burned. I found out about them when I asked him about the fire just before he died.” Melissa leaned forward. “Did Mathias and Josey have a last name? Did they have any children?” “Well, child, I don’t rightly know. I don’t know any of their people.” “They could still have relatives in the Huntsville area, like you.” “Goodness, Melissa. Why are you so anxious for this? If I knew, maybe I could help.” Melissa smiled with an air of nonchalance. “I often see the cemetery. I guess I need to put a face to the bodies out there, just like seeing you helps put a face on the old house that is gone.” “Oh, I should have thought about that. Silly me. But why did you ask about Jeremiah’s relationship with the slaves? You telling me I have some colored cousins?” “I don’t know. I was just looking for a little icing.” 63

CHAPTER EIGHT “A little mixed don’t matter anymore. I’m not sure how we got off on that tangent. My brother is in no way able to carry on as the family historian, not that he ever did. That’s my job, and maybe one of these days it will be my niece’s.” Melissa warmly clasped the old woman’s arm. “I would like to ask a favor.” “We’re almost family now,” said Emma. “It pleases me no end to find someone as interested in the old place as me. Even Johnnie, my brother, will be interested in that. You know he’s told me to drop this more than once. I think he’s jealous that Beth, that’s my niece, his daughter, takes this more seriously than he does. He is just impossible…” Melissa interrupted. “What I would request, Emma, and I know it is a big favor, is that my husband and I get a chance to go through the contents of the entire trunk. Carefully. We’ll need some time for that.” “Oh, that is so wonderful,” said Emma, a tear welling up which she quickly brushed away. “I would love to have the company.” “What I mean, Emma, is that I would like to borrow the old trunk.” Emma’s face soured. “Melissa, I don’t know about that. This old trunk is very precious to me and getting it out of here will be a mess. We can do this together. You don’t need to move it.” “That’s the point, Emma. Not only will Jared and I research this, but Professor Rayburn wants this information. Your family has a rich history, too rich to not take time to do it except in a professional way. And frankly your home is not the right place. Our computer and camera are at our home.” Emma melted ever so slightly. “I can see that. How do I know something won’t come up missing?” “Dr. Rayburn,” Melissa emphasized the doctor, “and my husband are professionals. Your loss is every bit a loss for them. Dr. Rayburn’s job is safe-keeping history.” “If it is a matter of space, I’ll call Beth. We will clean this room, send some things to the Salvation Army. I’ll make room for you. It will be like night and day.” “Emma, I don’t want to be responsible for the loss of your belongings. I’ll tell you what. Let’s take a couple of hours and note every item in this trunk. You’ll have a list. I promise that Jared will be finished in a week.” “Well, maybe…” “Emma, your trunk will be safe and sound. We lock our house every day. And you will not only make Dr. Rayburn’s day, you’ll make his year. For all we know, what we do will end up in the paper or in some historical journal. Won’t that make you super happy? I know it would me.” 64

Shadow of The Conjurer “I suppose you could say I owe it to my family.” “Like you said, we are almost family,” said Melissa, hoping to seal her agreement. “You said I would have it back in a week?” Her frown was questioning though the question seemed positive. “Jared, my husband, will personally deliver the trunk. We should be finished and out of here by evening.” With one last curveball, Emma indicated the trunk was probably too heavy for even Jared and Melissa. However, Melissa pulled from Emma the names of a couple of teenage boys who lived next door who could help in a pinch. Backed into a corner and finally convinced everything would work, Emma sat down and began the inventory.

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CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER NINE Jared and Melissa hoisted the trunk through Emma’s two back rooms. They had the trunk outside and covered with a protective tarp and then inside their own house by evening. From their computer room sofa Jared began pulling things out, one at a time, turning them inside and out, regardless of their simplicity. Jared was on a roll and in his element. Melissa sighed and went to the kitchen for a bottle of wine, deciding to stick it out with her husband on the chance he would discover something. Jared was ecstatic about the photos, the family bible, and the many tax records, even from before the civil war, but the ledger was of limited value since it cataloged four years of supplies and sales from the property in the 1870s. He examined the photos carefully and was like a little kid when he saw the slave’s names. Melissa suggested Jared not get too excited as the slaves’ last names were not printed on the notes. “That’s okay. I’ll figure it out. Wow! I did not anticipate all of this…this…” “Booty?” finished Melissa. “I expect you’ll be busy the next few nights. But I’m ready to go to bed.” “Let’s move the trunk to the wall first.” “Whatever. Be careful of the leather straps. They’ll split easily, even with everything out of the trunk.” They each grabbed a side and shuffled the trunk toward the wall, awkward not because of the weight, but because they did not have a sturdy hold. The duck walk that ensued shifted the weight rapidly back and forth. In midst of the ten feet to the wall, they heard something sliding in the bottom of the trunk. “I thought you pulled everything out,” said Melissa. “Of course I did. I checked every compartment. Must be a loose drawer.” “I hope not. Emma would be very upset if we broke something.” 66

Shadow of The Conjurer Setting it down, Jared opened the trunk. Melissa stood over him. After a bit Jared stood up, failing to find anything. “Beats me what caused that. I don’t see anything.” “Let’s move it again.” They swung the trunk toward the wall. ‘Thunk’, it sounded. The second and third step resulted in the same. Jared reopened the trunk and rifled the compartments again, finding nothing. “That was something heavy.” “Check the bottom.” Jared gently rapped the floor of the open half with a fist. “It’s solid.” He lifted one end and then asked Melissa to lift the other. This time they listened carefully as the sound isolated to below the compartments. Jared pulled out a pocketknife and prodded the sides of the drawers, soon finding that the velvet was attached to a loose slat. Taking the edge of the knife, Jared wedged the blade between the bottom of the slat and the compartment above and began wiggling the blade. He worked horizontally along the length of the slat and was soon rewarded. The slat came free. He and Melissa exchanged glances. “Babe, tilt the back. Whatever is under this compartment will slide out.” Melissa lifted and a dark leather package slipped to the edge, catching on the velvet-covered slat. “What is it?” she asked, craning her neck toward Jared. “I can’t tell. There’s not much room. My finger will barely get around it. I’ll have to remove the siding.” “Something in there was not meant for prying eyes. Be careful not to damage it more than necessary.” Jared took a hand on each side of the slat and slowly pulled it out. When Jared felt the velvet threads parting, he stopped and used the flat edge of the blade to work the glue. Jared’s fingers were able to grab underneath and pull the package free. It was a leather attaché, oily and dark with age, its lip and body tied together with dry leather strings. The couple looked at each other, and Melissa nodded. They both knew without saying that the package had to be opened immediately. Jared carefully unthreaded the leather, a piece breaking off in the endeavor. He took hold of the lip and folded it back, revealing a hard bound and thick journal, red and black trimmed, not much smaller than the attaché case. Jared started to remove the journal, but Melissa stopped him with a hand. “Let’s sit down on the sofa in the living room. This is important. I feel it.” 67

CHAPTER NINE They moved downstairs and settled at the end of the couch. Melissa cuddled Jared as if for protection, but both excitement and apprehension bled from her eyes. Jared, instead, contrasted with scientific curiosity. He carefully took the attaché in one hand and pulled the journal inch by inch from the comfort of its recess. The journal stuck with a life of its own, slipping and stopping from moment to moment, leather to oily leather. It conveyed not a desire, but a need to remain in the dark, unwilling to be exposed to a present so different from when it was birthed. The journal came free. Indifferently, the attaché case was tossed aside, the real treasure in their hands. Jared parted the untitled journal toward its maturation, subconsciously sensing answers toward its end, each side falling to his lap, Melissa taking the left and he taking the right closest to the lamp. The ink had faded from its original rich darkness to a watercolor-like brown. It was barely legible, the pages brittle with age. The journal was a diary, unusual because the diary was a man’s, not a journal of facts, but a diary of emotion. Several pages had been torn from the end. The last entry of the book was short. “I saw Nika for the first time at the auction to which my father brought me,” the diary painted sorrowfully with regret. “She was beautiful, dark skinned, ebony eyed, and 11 years old. And I was only 12. Now six years later, anyone can see she has bewitched me. It is transparent to anyone in the quarters or in this house that I cannot have her. I am unsure I can go through with this trip to Somerville. My father and mother’s ill advised match-making trip. I cannot admit to my emotions or my intents, especially to my family but also to my friends, the only ones I have, and they are my father’s property.” It was dated June 10, 1837, but the auction was clearly an incident from earlier. It was signed with a simple signature. The author was Jacob Thompson. Jared peeled back the last few pages; but Melissa closed it gently, her hand touching Jared as if closing the circuit, the charge moving instantaneously into her husband. Jared turned quietly but curiously to his wife, his eyebrows asking ‘why’ when this was getting interesting. Melissa shook her head. “Go to the beginning. We start the answers with the beginning, not the end, not the middle. A story begins before it ends, and this story has waited a long time for its completion by a sympathetic reader. Do it properly. Do it respectfully. I don’t care if it takes all night, but we read this through. Together.” Jared nodded in assent. “I should read it aloud because it’s in long hand. We’ll have trouble with some of the words. We can help each other.” “Exactly.” 68

Shadow of The Conjurer Jared’s pull on the old binding seemed to discharge fine shavings of book motes into the air, swirling in eddies of imaginary smoke that revealed their musty smell in the soft currents of their quiet living room. This time he carefully opened the first page which crinkled as the aged brittle paper rebelled at opening its eyes to the world after so many years of darkness. Jared cleared his throat and began. “October 27, 1831 Harvest has profited father. It’s the best crop so far. He says I am old enough and educated. I must act like a plantation owner’s son and help with the books and learn the trade. Father should realize I am only 12 but he says things as they are with that Turner thing out east that I must become a man quicker as I am the oldest. I prefer fishing to this book writing but it seems so long ago since Mathias and I caught crawlers and cast charms on them to catch fish. Mother said she would ensure father is not too harsh but he scares me sometimes. I can’t make him happy. She wants me to practice not only my arithmetic but writing in this diary. I said I would try. For her. I feel like a girl. She promised not to look but she will. I hope if she reads this, she won’t think less of me because if I must do this foolish thing, I will at least be truthful. So prepare yourself, Mother! Father wants me to go to town with him tomorrow. With some of the profits, Father wants to buy 5 new slaves, big nigger bucks for clearing fields. I have never been to a slave auction, so tomorrow should be exciting. Jacob Thompson” “Wait a second, Jared.” “First, you tell me to read it, and then you stop me. It’s after midnight.” “I know that, you ninny. But how could you not get a serious case of the willies after reading those two entries? We opened the book to this apparent love affair between Jeremiah’s son and this slave girl, Nika, and then the opening entry is about the day they meet.” “Very odd but also very incidental. Do you want me to read some more?” “It’s more than incidental. And at what point will ‘odd’ coincidences, as you put it, pass your litmus test?” “I’ll try to be more open.” “Thank you.” Jared placed his finger on the next entry. He looked back at Melissa, and with a nod started reading. Melissa hunkered down and grabbed his arm, safety and comfort battling quietly with excitement for emotional supremacy. 69

PART II - “Inlusione Pacem”

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PART II “Inlusione Pacem” The Antebellum South Alabama – 1831 to 1837

Fiery Hill Plantation – Ten Miles from Huntsville Magnolia Grove Plantation – Somerville

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Character Index – Alabama (A.D. 1831 – 1837)

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Character Index – Alabama (A.D. 1831-1837) In order of appearance Major Characters Jeremiah Thompson– An Alabama Cotton King and owner of the antebellum plantation, Fiery Hill, the land for which was given to him by his father, Malachi. He and his wife, Sarah, have four children, Jacob, their only son, and three daughters. Sarah Thompson – Wife of Jeremiah and mother of Jacob. A petite but kind woman who takes a background role until the end of the chapters set in 1830s Alabama. Jacob Thompson – Son of Jeremiah and Sarah Thompson. He is first seen at the age of twelve as reflected in his diary which is discovered by Jared and Melissa McNally. In 1831 Jacob rides to Huntsville with his father to procure slaves at an auction. It is in Huntsville where he meets and is immediately entranced by the slave girl, Nika, who in the initial scenes is only eleven. Their friendship grows over the years into a forbidden love. Solomon – Head slave and driver for Jeremiah Thompson. Mathias – Mentioned in discussion between Jeremiah and Jacob during their trip to Huntsville in 1831 as Jacob’s boyhood friend. Mathias is a field slave and later apprentice to Bill, the slave blacksmith. He is instrumental in the later scenes in 1830s Alabama. He becomes the husband of the housekeeper slave, Josey, who is Nika’s best friend. Muso - Guardian of Nika. Both Nika and Muso are bought by Jeremiah in 1831. Jeremiah tasks Jacob to teach them English. Muso and Nika are Africans. In 1831 procuring Africans as slaves is illegal (though having African descendents as slaves is not). Despite this barrier, both woman and child are bought into slavery at Fiery Hill. This incident is fortuitous for both as Fiery Hill appears friendlier to slaves than most plantations. Over the years Muso and Nika become valued house servants of Jeremiah and Sarah, especially so because Muso saves the life of one of their daughters. Nika - Eventual lover of Jacob Thompson. Nika is the same Nika in the prologue of the story. Josey – The quirky but lovable slave and housekeeper who becomes Nika’s best friend and later becomes Mathias’ wife 73

Character Index – Alabama (A.D. 1831 – 1837)

Character Index – Alabama (A.D. 1831-1837) In order of appearance (continued) Peter Spangler - Rogue son of Benjamin Spangler of the Somerville plantation, Magnolia Grove. He is the brother of Pamela Spangler who is matched with Jacob Thompson in an ill-fated match-making affair between the Thompsons and Spanglers. Juba – Mysterious and beautiful slave at Magnolia Grove who is Peter Spangler’s lover. Mid-Major Characters Julius McGeorge – A fat and oily slave trader and panderer. Jeremiah buys a few slaves from him in Huntsville, including Muso and Nika. Cicero – The head slave for Benjamin Spangler at Magnolia Grove Plantation. Benjamin Spangler – Owner of Magnolia Grove Plantation. Easily manipulated by his son, Peter. Minor Characters Hanna – Head housekeeper and slave for Jeremiah and Sarah. She befriends Muso who replaces Hanna as head housekeeper and governess for the Thompson daughters after Hanna’s death. Moses and Job – Interesting slaves bought by Jeremiah in Huntsville during the same trip in which Muso and Nika are procured. Elizabeth, Eve, and Esther Thompson – Jeremiah and Sarah’s three daughters and sisters of Jacob. Esther’s life was saved by Muso who afterwards is held in even higher regard by Jeremiah. Bill – The slave blacksmith and horse handler for Jeremiah. He accompanies the Thompsons on the ill-fated trip to Somerville to Magnolia Grove Plantation in 1837. Abigail Spangler – Wife of Benjamin, owner of Magnolia Grove. Pamela Spangler – Daughter of Benjamin and sister of Peter. Roped into a matchmaking affair between the Thompsons and the Spanglers.

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CHAPTER TEN October 27, 1831 – Fiery Hill Plantation East of Huntsville, Alabama

Morning broke to a dissipating rain. At this time of year Alabama weather was unpredictable. Cold fronts from the Indian plains swooped in from the northwest and clashed with numerous warm fronts pushed from the Gulf of Mexico. It meant heavy rains and wind; but the rain soaked the ground, was held in the mountains, and freed in numerous springs of cool and delicious water. It also represented a time of preparation for the winter and next year’s cotton crop. This year’s crop was now harvested, leaving its increasing profits to Jeremiah Thompson. In thirteen years Jeremiah had mastered this land, not only through his family’s wealth, but on the backs of his slaves, the success of Eli Whitney’s cotton gin, and the British isle’s appreciation for Alabama short-staple upland cotton. Jeremiah was rich on his own accord and not because he was the younger son of Malachi Thompson of South Carolina. And his plantation, Fiery Hill, reflected his pride in his own personal success. The plantation had grown steadily from the two-room dogtrot that Jeremiah and Sarah shared for a season. Sarah no longer pined for South Carolina after the mansion was built, trimmed with white planks and beautiful windows and shutters. Another modification resulted in a long tee of four wide rooms added behind the house to isolate the kitchen and storerooms. The icing on the cake arrived when profits in 1828 provided funds for Jeremiah to surprise Sarah. The slaves felled huge cedar logs which after curing and turning were pinned and stacked onto a new long and wide oak planked porch with a stone foundation. An artisan then carved them into beautiful columns to mimic the Greek Revival style appreciated by Americans longing to be noticed by the world. 75

CHAPTER TEN His father, Malachi, in 1817 bought close to three thousand acres bordering the Flint River in Alabama, much of which remained unusable mountain land. It took Jeremiah years of hard work to clear much of the land for cotton, the cash crop. His yields increased each year to where he ginned almost one thousand pounds of cotton per acre in lands close to the river and easily obtained seven hundred pounds per acre on cleared mountain land. Cotton prices were holding at over ten cents a pound, and Jeremiah used his money wisely. He reinvested and increased the residents for Fiery Hill’s quarters to over one hundred and fifty slaves. Jeremiah intended to teach his son, Jacob, just as he had learned from his father. The boy was twelve, educated; and, as far as Jeremiah was concerned, no longer owed the easy life of play that was his script until the past year. Jeremiah and his wife, Sarah, rose early. Jacob awoke to the smell of bacon and biscuits made by the gruff and blunt Hannah, the house cook. The family ate quietly together so as to avoid waking Jacob’s three younger sisters. Jeremiah and Jacob’s canvas travel bags were already packed into the simple wagon. The house was shadowy and gray in the early morning light as it was shrouded in huge elms and oaks that protected it from the waking sun. The smell of the ion residue in the rain had not cleared and helped wake the senses of the departing. It was 6 a.m., and time to leave. The trip to Huntsville would take a good six hours. Jeremiah wanted to examine the slaves on sale before the auction. Arm in arm Jacob and Sarah casually paced the porch facing the Flint River to the southwest a half mile away. The boy pointed to the dispersing rain clouds that left gaping holes of blue sky from which streamers of sunlight flooded the lower pasture. A mist of wispy vapors escaped from the ground and churned in the sunlight, adding a chorus of rainbow glints to the living canvas, a landscaped jewel twinkling with animation. The pasture lay fallow with last year’s cotton stalks turned into the ground waiting spring plowing and next year’s reseeding. Mother and son quietly appreciated the bucolic scene. Jeremiah walked through the front door with Solomon, head slave and driver, sometimes referred to as overlooker, manager of the plantation Negroes. Jeremiah had no white overseer. Jeremiah repeated instructions to Solomon for the next few days. Jeremiah anticipated staying in Huntsville for one or two nights before returning on the weekend. He instructed his overlooker to slaughter numerous fat hogs for Jeremiah’s annual Christmas gift of smoked meats for the slaves as well as the holiday feast for friends and the slave families. Jeremiah looked forward to the season. So did the slaves who for the week between Christmas and New Year’s were freed from work so families could spend time together. 76

Shadow of The Conjurer Jeremiah even gave time off and a pass (to satisfy patrollers) for some to visit family in nearby plantations. The house servants, however, had the normal routine for the holidays although Sarah usually set aside a couple of days for them to be off duty while the Thompsons attended to the house and meals. They were allowed to pick through last year’s clothes that were too worn for the Thompsons to use. They were mended when the servants had time and worn with some pride after the holidays. After the men finished talking, Jeremiah motioned for Jacob. In a few minutes the two draft horses trotted along the cedar-lined cobbled pathway marking the entrance to the grounds and mansion. Father and son sat quietly in their seats, the rhythm of the clip-clop calming for a rare trip. The plantation was connected to the main road to Huntsville by a rough and rutted path. Jeremiah strove to keep the wagon from the mud. Jacob swayed with the up and down movement but was keen to look for wild life. At the juncture of the rutted road and the main highway to town Jeremiah stopped for a drink and a pee. Jeremiah was more relaxed after his physical needs were satisfied. The highway to Huntsville was wider and better maintained, at least for ten miles outside the city proper. The road allowed an easier hold on the reins, the horses following the path at a slow but regular pace. Ahead was a lunch of bread, butter, and honey. The carefree atmosphere was an inducement to a father-son discussion. “Jacob, I am glad we have this trip together.” “I am very excited, father. We have not been to Huntsville since Aunt Margie visited.” “But this trip is for your education. I brought the ledgers. I want you to read them while we ride. You’ll see that I have entries for all of the supplies, equipment, and property. These Negroes will have to be added. I want you to do that, so notice how the columns are lined and the manner in which I annotate the descriptions. Follow that example.” “Father, did you know that Mother desires that I keep a diary?” “I do.” “Why should I write down everything that happens to me? It is unnecessary. It’s my life, not Mother’s.” “And you do not understand. Your mother wants you to conduct a labor, like Hercules, so you can learn about yourself. Your shortcomings. Your strengths. It does not matter whether I would have done the same. You will do it because your Mother and I agree you should.” “If I do this, it should be private.” 77

CHAPTER TEN “Your mother may be disappointed that you choose your privacy; but she will respect your wishes, as will I.” “Maybe.” “I should box your ears, son,” Jeremiah said without anger, almost nonchalantly, but matter of factly, without turning his head from the road. “You confuse leniency as permission to say what you feel. You are a naive whelp who has no perception of what it takes to run Fiery Hill. And our faith, our willingness to turn the cheek, is not an excuse to withdraw from our expectations.” Jeremiah paused for a few seconds to let the rebuke sink in. “Your book learning is necessary, but it is not your real education. That starts tomorrow. You will understand why a white man is a plantation owner and a Negro is a slave.” Jacob hung his head, recalibrating to silent respect and deference he knew was expected. “Yes, sir.” “By the time you are eighteen you will take Solomon’s job. I want you to be the overseer of Fiery Hill.” The announcement brought Jacob to attention. He did not turn to face his father. Jeremiah continued slowly but purposefully. “That Nat Turner revolt in Virginia turned a lot of heads with all of the killing. And the papers say he was treated fairly before the murders. Do you think I treat our slaves fairly, Jacob?” “I guess so, father. I never seen any Negroes for any length of time ‘cept ours. The few times in Huntsville, I seen ‘em, but they were just workin’. I didn’t mind them any.” “That’s why you are coming with me to this auction. Our darkies might be like Nat Turner, hiding behind friendly banter, waiting to pounce. I have no slave trouble. But that situation means you need to see it from other men’s eyes. I’m thinking of letting you apprentice at another plantation.” “No! Please, father, no!” “Do not become overly anxious. I said I am thinking about it. Your mother doesn’t want me to, but sooner or later you must understand our Negroes are treated well compared to other slaves. I may wait until you are sixteen. I have to admit though; I sometimes question my choice to be less disciplined and to disregard the lash.” “I seen Solomon wave it around, but he never uses it.” “Oh, he would…if I let him. Solomon has experience using it. He was a young driver at another plantation, a plantation that encouraged the lash and let a black man use it on other black men. Your grandfather taught him the error of that way. Our way works. 78

Shadow of The Conjurer Only had one runaway in ten years. You must understand they are human, like us, but not like us. However, the part that is like us, that has a soul, requires that I treat them humanely.” Jacob nodded. “That being said, check the stripers carefully.” “Stripers?” “Trouble makers. The scars from the whip brand them as such. They may not have deserved it, but I don’t take the chance. Most any I buy will have some, but ones that are heavily scarred got their badges with reason.” “You said to treat them humanely.” “If they were wronged, it is someone else’s duty to explain to the Almighty at Judgment Day. You understand?” “I think so. Do you make them take their shirts off?” “Yes. I look for less visible problems as well. When I examine the Negroes, the first thing I determine is which ones have family. The sly auctioneer will not tell me. I ask the Negroes directly. I don’t want field hands with family elsewhere, at least ones who brood for their child, wife, or husband. So it’s either no family or all family. As long as the price is acceptable, I try to keep them together. Keeps everybody happy. Slaves need to be happy too. If you don’t, makes them good candidates for runaways. I’m not responsible for them being separated from their children or their wives. So why should I be the one who suffers? You understand the reasoning, son?” “I suppose so, father. But Solomon is married, and his wife is in South Carolina.” “My father did that, not me. Besides, Solomon had the chance to bring her here and decided to leave her behind. I am absolved.” “Oh, I didn’t know that. I am glad you try to keep them together. So being humane, is that why you let me play with Mathias?” “Of course, Jacob. You were young and needed someone to play with and so did Mathias. Just because he is a Negro does not mean you should not play with him…as a child.” “Then why did I have to quit playing with him two years ago?” “It was Mathias’ time to become a man.” “You mean he was old enough to work in the fields?” “I guess that is one way to look at it, but working in the fields isn’t something that comes natural. A man has to understand a lot of different things to be useful in farming.” 79

CHAPTER TEN “Then why is it that only black men work in the field? I could do as well as Mathias.” “No doubt. But you are a Caucasian which is what learned men call white folks. And learned men also say that the Negro, unlike the Caucasian, is unable to move beyond the primitive without the help of white men. In a sense we are helping to raise them beyond their natural ability. They do well in hard labor. It takes many worrisome burdens from their mind, and I feed and take care of them. So Mathias is happier than he would be in Africa.” “But he is still a slave, father.” “Yes, but the good book blesses slavery. In Colossians 3:22 it says, ‘Servants, be obedient to them that are your masters according to the flesh, with fear and trembling, in singleness of your heart, as unto Christ.’ Of course, a reasonable Christian looks at the good book in its entirety, realizing that God blesses slavery provided the slave owner is fair and kind to his slaves. That is why I do not use the lash. It is too easy for a master to condone his own cruelty by noting that the God of Abraham was an angry God who expected discipline and respect. Man is not God no matter how much we may wish to be God-like.” “Mother is very good to our slaves, Father.” “Your mother is a very Christ-like woman. I expect her to do nothing different,” said Jeremiah with the slightest pride. “It’s not pretend, to tease them into doing something. She treats them like she treats me.” “That’s an exaggeration, son, but I can see why you think that way. Enough talk. Reach into our bag and pull out those ledgers. It’s time to learn the business of running a plantation. After all, I won’t live forever.”

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he two story brick warehouse on Huntsville’s Cotton Row was open on one end. This allowed wagons delivering cotton bales to enter and stack their cargo in compartments which segregated the cargo of individual cotton sellers. However, most cotton was disposed by the end of October, so the warehouse held only a few bales. It was cool inside despite the afternoon warming. Fires in four brick-lined carts were scattered about the floor. Several people congregated around these awaiting the auction. The brick and timber walls rose twenty-five feet to the rafters but were unadorned with windows. The stalls held steel rings to which were shackled part of the human cargo 80

Shadow of The Conjurer scheduled for sale, heavily muscled but flimsily clad Negro males, obviously field hands, barefoot and sprawled on the floor with their arms wrapped around their folded knees. Close by sat several others, a few females of different ages and more males, mostly older. A small number of children sat in their mother’s lap, silent but wary or quietly whispering while they were examined. Jeremiah quickly focused on the men. He examined those who appeared capable of handling the hot and heavy workload of an Alabama spring and summer. It was their plowing, hoeing, seeding, weeding, and cotton picking that made Jeremiah richer. One could ascertain that the shackled men were young but already worn, their hands and feet calloused, raisin-faced from the sun. Though the fall air was chilly, one man was shirtless. As he turned, the striped scars gloated his misery. Some held faces that were obviously broken, others unbroken but bent, accepting of their lot, while a few still held a spark of defiance. Yet, life was not extinguished. A careful inspection would reveal a smile every few seconds between obvious friends or family members, a child’s face held lovingly in its mother’s hand, the prying eyes of a potential buyer, or for that matter any member of the captor race, unable to obscure their genuine emotion. Jeremiah was one of these outsiders, those captors and masters, kind or malicious. He approached a coated and corpulent man, thin of head and hair with long legs that looked unable to withstand the weight of his middle. He stood in the corner at a podium with a ledger and ink well, preparing notes for the sale as he shuffled various papers. “Excuse me, brother,” said Jeremiah. The man stopped and looked over the top of his brass-wired spectacles, his pen dipped in the ink well. “Yes, may I help you, brother?” “I am Jeremiah Thompson, owner of the cotton plantation, Fiery Hill. This is my oldest, Jacob.” Moving around the podium the auctioneer extended his hand. “Yes, Mr. Thompson, I heard of you. I’m Julius McGeorge. Glad to meet you and your boy.” McGeorge switched his hand to Jacob who accepted the hand, but with little interest as his eyes flitted around the souls surrounding him on the floor and against the wall. “I travel the green pastures and civilized cities of the South in a yearly circuit, so that at least once a year I provide access of my stock to important planters. I am surprised we have not met before but am happy to provide you a close examination of these strong and capable Negroes, every one of them proven elsewhere.” “Do you have the proper papers?” 81

CHAPTER TEN “Oh, yes, Mr. Thompson, I can show a clean bill of sale on every one of these young bucks. Would you like to see them?” “Eventually. Do any of those Negroes have any family left behind?” “Why do you ask?” “Come now, Mr. McGeorge. Let’s not mince words as you know very well why I ask. A Negro man separated from his wife and children is an unhappy servant. I prefer the strong single ones. But a slave with a wife, maybe even a child, would be acceptable since they work best when they have something to work for.” “And it’s easier on the ledger to have breeding stock, isn’t it?” Jeremiah did not smile or reply. “Well, I appreciate an honest man that gets straight to the point. These men are strong slaves and field hands. You’ll get a good return on a fair price.” “I am sure, Mr. McGeorge, but you evade the question. I do not desire men that are broken from their family. I need five; but they will not work in my fields if they pine for their wife, no matter how strong their physical presence.” “I understand. Would you like to examine these men?” “Yes.” Jeremiah moved to the shackled slaves while ignoring McGeorge, motioning Jacob to follow. “The first is Moses,” said McGeorge as he followed. “I have his papers for your examination.” He extended the crisp yellow forms in a fat fist. Jeremiah waved McGeorge off. “I believe you. Just tell these slaves to answer my questions when I ask. Then leave us be.” “As you wish. All of you. Listen here. This is Mr. Jeremiah Thompson. He is an important man in these here parts. He wants to ask some questions. Answer him truthfully, and I won’t be tempted to bring out my whip. You hear?” Some nodded obligingly as if they had heard this before and knew it better to acknowledge than remain silent. Others simply stared, a few sullen with sunken eyes of simmering anger. “Call me if you need anything.” McGeorge returned to the beat up podium. Jeremiah approached the slave called Moses. “Moses, or any of you that hear me. I want to know if you have family. Tell me if they are with you. I’ll not take embarrassing liberties. My priority is not the women, so don’t fret.” Jeremiah crouched to speak to the dark mahogany slave. “Do you have a wife or children, Moses?” 82

Shadow of The Conjurer “No, sirs, at least no wife. I have a mother, but she dead.” “And where was your last master before Mr. McGeorge?” “Sir, I worked for masters in the Carolinas.” “How old are you, Moses?” “I don’t rightly know, but I figure I over twenty and less than thirty.” “You ever work cotton, Moses?” “Yes, sir. I work that long-staple cotton on Carolina coast for Master John.” “I see. Anything else?” “Yes. I work tobacco and food crops. Corn. Sweet potato.” “Good. How much cotton you pick in a day, Moses?” “I don’t rightly know, Master Thompson,” said Moses, his eyes narrowing in distrust. “Moses. I don’t cotton to lying. Every slave is watched to see how much he can pick. Your masters told you. What do you pick in a day?” “Well, it vary.” “I accept that. What was the average?” You could see Moses’ mind calculating as he delayed an answer. Was this Master Thompson asking if I do that all the time? If so, he’ll expect the same or more every day. If he a bad master and beat me, life will be miserable. If he a good master, I like to work for him ‘cause I’m going to die in this blasted land. I might as well be comfortable. Besides, if I don’t go to a plantation, I might end up with some white trash farmer on a hundred acre worked to death, doing everything from plowing to cooking. Jeremiah quickly ascertained what the indecision meant. “Moses, you will find me a reasonable master. I don’t use the lash. I obtain your cooperation because I am fair, not because I beat you. Now what is your average?” Moses gazed uncomfortably into the rich man’s eyes. “I guess I averages a good hundred and thirty pound a day, Master Thompson. Some days more. Some days less.” “You ever swing an axe? Clear land?” “Yes, sir. Saw too.” “I’ll be back in a moment.” Jeremiah repeated his questions with nine other men, some shackled, and some sitting on the floor. He noted in his ledger those broken from wives or children. He then came to the tenth, another strong young man shackled to the last ring on the wall. 83

CHAPTER TEN “What’s your name?” “I Job, mas’r.” “Job? What master would name their slave Job? Poor sense of irony all I can say,” he remarked without caring to see if Job understood what he meant. “You have any family, Job?” Job pointed to a young woman, maybe sixteen, sitting with a group of women slaves. “She your sister or your wife?” “Well, I guess she my wife though no preacher say any words o’er us. She carrying my child.” Jeremiah looked at the woman again, sizing the situation. “Job, what you going to do when you, your wife, and child break up?” “God see me cry a river of tears, Mas’r.” “You love that woman, Job?” “Yes, I do, Mas’r Thompson. I surely do.” “You work the hardest of your life if I keep the two of you together?” “Mas’r, yes. I already pick two hundred pounds a cotton one day. I pick three hundred for you when my family with me. Yes, sir. I will.” “We will see, Job.” Jeremiah gave a cursory physical examination of each of the slaves. Jacob watched with interest. Each man was unshackled, one at a time, whereupon they walked and bent. Each lifted heavy weights from the back of the wagon as Jeremiah watched for difficulty in movement. He checked their teeth and eyes. He squeezed their arm and leg muscles, looking for firmness. Finally, they removed their flimsy shirts, and he examined their torsos for sores or scars that might reveal significant injuries or health issues, or rabble-rousing. After Jeremiah finished, it was an hour until the auction. McGeorge approached Jeremiah with interest, knowing the planter could afford to buy several. “Are you satisfied, Brother Thompson?” “Yes. I’ll make an offer to avoid the auction process. Are you interested?” “I can’t say. The auction, after all, brings the best prices. As I told you, other planters are interested in this lot so…” “Bullshit.” “Brother Thompson! I must say…” 84

Shadow of The Conjurer “Don’t Brother Thompson anything. You could care less about my religion or Jesus Christ himself. We both know you are looking for dollars. So what is your price?” “You misjudge me, sir. But if you wish to cut to the bargaining, I cannot take anything less than $1000 per field worker, but less for any female or older worker. I gather you are looking for five field workers, so that would be $5000. I will be happy to load them for you,” barked the suddenly terse and allegedly slandered McGeorge. Jeremiah chuckled and then looked at McGeorge with steely eyes. “I am a Christian man, so maybe I should apologize for saying ‘bullshit’, instead of ‘horseshit’, to a huge pile of horse manure like yourself. I know the wealthy men of North Alabama. None of them are here. Most of these men in this warehouse, if they are doing more than dreaming of buying a servant, are looking for onesies or maybe twosies. Most don’t have the last dime they had, much less $100. I will not cheat you, but I won’t let you cheat me. I’ll give you $500 for each of the five I name and I want the wife of one of them thrown in for free. If you say no, I’ll wait and take my chances. I’m willing to bet that if I have to spend more than that, it won’t be much more; and it is much more likely I will have to pay a lot less.” Jeremiah intoned caustically. “Your call, Brother McGeorge.” McGeorge cleared his throat, pausing to think over the number in his head. “$2500 total for five field workers of your choice and one woman you believe to be a wife of one of the slaves?” “Yes.” “I have brought these men a long ways. Huntsville is not Savannah and expenses as they are, I must ask six for each and half for the woman. Total $3300, but I am bent on this against my better judgment. I expect to clear more in the auction as every one of these slaves is proven and very strong. I have the papers…” “Done,” said Jeremiah. “I will have one of my men remove the property. I assume I will have the cash before the auction?” “My bank is down the street above the spring. The bank president is a personal friend of mine, so, yes, I will have the money within the hour. I expect you to feed the slaves and clean them before I return home.” “I will be happy to, Mr. Thompson.” McGeorge stuck out his hand; but Jeremiah just looked at it, turned, and motioned Jacob to come with him. Jacob did so, but with his head turned back to McGeorge who slowly lowered his hand. Jeremiah pointed to Job and then to his wife. Job broke into a huge smile, jumped to his feet, and almost fell down when the chains caught around his ankles. 85

CHAPTER TEN As Jeremiah passed and continued barking orders, Job shouted with happiness. “Thank you, mas’r! Thank you. Praise Jesus. Thank you! I always do what you wishes.” Then Job fell to his knees in supplication, tears streaming down his face as the shackles tore into his ankles and wrists, dribbles of blood oozing out from his arms and feet to the dirt floor.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN Avoiding the auction allowed time for Jeremiah and Jacob to enjoy a mid-afternoon lunch at their hotel. Talk in the lobby was the certainty that Huntsville would become the next Nashville, booming in prosperity and passing that city in size and success. In 1823 Huntsville opened the first public water system in America. It carried water from Big Spring to the city’s businesses in hollow cedar logs. Now the talk was even louder because Fearn’s Canal had opened to allow the transportation of cotton and passengers by keelboat from Big Spring’s wharfs to the Tennessee River several miles away. Father and son took a walk around the dusty Huntsville streets and shops of Cotton Row. Jacob enjoyed hard candy at the general store as Jeremiah looked for cloth for Sarah’s sewing projects as well as herbs, spices, and sugar. At one point Jeremiah quickly scooted Jacob by a side street as two men stumbled out an alley saloon, one falling against a brick building opposite the rickety door of the saloon. Further down the narrow alley two women of the night laughed from a staircase at the drunks’ predicament. Jacob craned his neck to glance furtively as Jeremiah pulled him away. Before returning to the hotel Jeremiah decided to check on his new slaves. Jacob was dismayed as Jeremiah promised a late meal to include a new dessert, iced cream with peaches. Jeremiah paced ahead of Jacob and entered the old warehouse, looking for McGeorge. A few men were clustered around one of the still burning fires in the brick-lined carts. Jeremiah approached them, asking for the whereabouts of McGeorge. One of the men, bearded and heavy with the smell of rum, said he thought he was in the basement at the back. They walked to the side of the building that sloped toward Big Spring. At the bottom they turned to a partially opened door, oil lamps glimmering from a windowless 87

CHAPTER ELEVEN room, and entered a musty basement with low ceilings. The creak of the door attracted the interest of some of the handful of men in the dark room, including McGeorge. McGeorge inched toward Jeremiah, his huge belly slowing his progress, the rest returning their gaze to the corner in low whispers. “Brother Thompson, is there a problem?” “Are my Negroes taken care of?” “Of course they are. They are fed and await in a room upstairs. Are you planning on taking them back by yourself?” “Should I be concerned?” “Heavens, no! Never had a problem with runaways. Never. Never.” “Your certainty makes me nervous. You have someone who can accompany me?” “Not part of my bill. Besides, I leave tomorrow at noon. Heading up to Nashville with what is left.” Jacob was attracted by the low mutters from the handful of men clumped in the corner. He squeezed between them. The oil light bounced off the walls in the dark, creating surreal shadows, the men’s faces shifting almost demon-like, the shadows hiding the clarity of their appearance. The effect was momentary. His gaze moved to a bench which held two slaves. Two females. Each barely covered with a thin blanket full of holes. The oldest, probably in her early twenties, was scarred not by the lash, but by purposeful action to create design, a scar tattoo of dots and lines around her cheeks and nose. She was beautiful, taunt, and almost regal in her defiance of the shackles on her wrists and ankles. Her breasts and nipples protruded uncaring from her exposed front. One of the men was cupping her breast, his face looking downward between her legs. The other was younger, really a child on the cusp of puberty, her front exposed, but her breasts in the beginnings of transformation. She was also defiant, head upturned, despite shackles that bit into her extremities. She had a cut below a swollen eye, dried blood around its edges. Ignoring the groping, the older woman held a shackled hand on the shoulder of the child in comfort. Jacob’s eyes widened at the uncomfortable scene and its sexual content, the younger girl’s beauty overwhelming him. Tawdry could not be a definition of his budding feelings. They were colored by the inexperience of his springtime. He had never noticed the Negroes at Fiery Hill. The house servants he saw every day. The field hands and their families he saw on special occasions. No one stood out. And none of the women in his routine struck him like this young girl. 88

Shadow of The Conjurer It was her face that caught him by surprise. Oval and thin with high cheekbones, her nose angular with flaring nostrils. Her head held a long and intriguing neck. Like the older woman, she did not seem afraid. Unlike the older woman, however, she was unscarred. Her demeanor was odd. Jacob had seen defiance and anger in a slave before, but it was the anger at their vulnerability, their impossible situation that registered. Here the eyes of the females were calm. Conquering the obvious physical beatings, their will was unbeaten. A child with strength in this situation was not a child. Though Jacob could not put words with it, could not place his finger on it, this child given a dagger would use it and remain unruffled by the act. Jeremiah turned to see what caught the interest of his son. His eyes gathered in the scene. “Jacob, go outside immediately!” Jacob moved slowly. If asked, he could not comprehend drowning in heightened pleasure. Before walking away, Jacob took a large gulp of sense-devouring gratification at his tingle, at his understanding and his bewilderment, at her. Then, he turned and walked away to sit at the outside warehouse wall facing the swell of the sun before it dropped its fire into sweet Mother Earth. Time for Jacob to dwell upon his feelings and how a moment changed him.

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ven though Jeremiah’s voice avoided anger for anger’s sake, one would not for a moment confuse the words’ meaning. “I should call the sheriff, brigand,” snarled Jeremiah. “What are you doing with this woman and this…this child?” His eyes defied the few men to say anything that challenged what he was witness to. They could easily overpower him, push him out, but they did not. One of the men balled his hand into a fist as his face drew tight, but McGeorge grabbed his arm to stop his interference. McGeorge smiled at Jeremiah. “Mr. Thompson, I will not lie to you. However, I will say that the sheriff is aware of what I am doing. He has his cut. He looks away at our small transgression.” McGeorge examined Jeremiah to determine the planter’s action. McGeorge had his money, and he was ready to quit the town. He need not be an actor. He simply allowed Jeremiah to bully for a moment, hoping to leave him validated at his Christian outrage. “It is more than a small transgression. I can tell from the scars this one is African. You and your friends are taking advantages that are despicable if not unlawful. I doubt our Sheriff’s hand was greased enough to make him turn away from this…your money making business of the dark.” 89

CHAPTER ELEVEN McGeorge smirked. “They are both African. I have been helping these poor women.” “These innocents, you vile whoremonger!” “Mr. Thompson, I cannot change your mind if you believe differently. Please accept my apologies. I will leave this town in the morrow and will no longer damage your or your son’s sensibilities. You should understand that these women…excuse me, these children, await a sale to a kind master…a kind master who appreciates their distrust of white men who wish them no harm.” “How much?” demanded Jeremiah. “Oh, do you wish to be their kind master?” “Don’t play with me, snake, or you will find the sheriff’s attitude changed. Ask around if you think I cannot make life difficult for you.” Seething, Jeremiah continued. “I recognize some of you. Your wives would not appreciate this picture when I explain my son watched your participation. Get out of here.” All quickly left except for the one who was ready to fight, obviously an employee of McGeorge. “It’s alright, Charley. Leave us be. Check on his property for him. I’ll be up in a second.” The man left with a grunt and scowl. “A thousand each, Mr. Thompson.” “They’re untrained. They do not understand English. They should be no more than $300 each for the work I will have them do, and they aren’t field hands. House servants maybe, but I have all of the house servants I need.” “I sold some of those slaves at auction for $800. You owe me, you old bastard, for that reaming you gave me.” “You made profit on me, McGeorge. Don’t imply your loss. Are they mother and daughter?” “How should I know? They can’t speak English. Do they look like it?” “No, but they’re bonded just the same. You are the criminal here. Or have you forgotten that the African slave trade is illegal?” “I bought them cleanly from a trader who got them from Cuba, not Africa. But it’s easy to see where they pine. And that’s not Spanish that they speaks. But I deal with the risk, Thompson. I got the papers that says they’re legal, even if they ain’t. Besides, I was 90

Shadow of The Conjurer making good money with them. Africa makes them mysterious. So do you want to save their souls or leave their smooth skin to my kind, you sanctimonious piece of shit.” “I should challenge you to a duel,” said Jeremiah calmly but clearly. “You won’t. If you did, I would shoot you dead. Just tell me whether you will pay.” “I’ll pay a good price but not robbery. I do it, as you said, to keep them from your kind. How much did you expect to make before they are used up and you sell them for what you can…as untrained, untamed slaves?” “At least we are bargaining with the truth. I would clear a couple of hundred dollars. But I paid $600 for the both of them. I need $1200 for my trouble. Take it or leave it. I’m tired of bargaining with you, and I’m just plain tired of you.” “Done. Get them some clothes. Until they are clothed, I don’t go to my banker; and you don’t get your money.” “By all means. Do I tell Jacob to come back, or do you wish to be kind to the women yourself?” brayed McGeorge. “Get out of my sight.” “As you wish.” McGeorge almost curtsied in a sarcastic lurch before leaving. The woman and child watched the proceedings without alarm or comment or concern. Jeremiah approached them and drew on his chin in bafflement. “What am I going to do with two Africans? I should have left, instead of indulging in worthless pride.” He paused a few moments in thought as they continued to watch him. Then he reached over and brought each of their blankets together to cover their fronts as the woman and child tensed, their eyes narrowing in question. “I guess Jacob will be teaching English. At least his education can help you.” The woman and girl understood that Jeremiah meant no harm, even if the words meant nothing. “Juma lemu nyinti (Who is this?),” said the child. “Mo bettelem, barri mo-juso jauyata fingofinti (He is a good man, but the heart of man is wicked above every thing),” responded the woman.

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CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE Jeremiah quarantined the Africans from the rest of the slaves. His father had an African who would not accept his fate and caused much unrest, even running off with a couple of slaves who had never given him any trouble. That slave was the only one Malachi sold before he was of use. Solomon and Hannah examined the two Africans in the barn. The Africans accepted the ministrations of the house servants, the woman calming the child in some guttural language neither house servant understood. Hannah rubbed a liniment of oils and herbs into their bruises to sooth the wounds as well as lemon juice on some bug bites. They tied small leather sacks holding balls of asafetida paste around their necks to keep away disease. The Africans turned their noses up at the pungent smell, the ample Hannah signaling with a cough and sick face that the bags kept away colds. The Africans also accepted the rags that purported to be dresses, mostly sacks with holes and cotton ropes to tie them securely to the waist. It was cool during the day and cold at night, so they were given blankets and left with straw for beds. Solomon noted their eyes followed his every action. When he roughly tended the young one’s wound, the woman reached for his hand and brought it to her breast. Solomon was pleasantly surprised. If Hannah were not there, he might have accepted her favors. Hannah simply said the woman was the child’s guardian and would have no harm come to the girl. Solomon’s eyes strayed to the African as he wondered what was behind a woman who so easily gives of herself to protect a child not her own. And the child. Yes, she was a spellbinder, so innocent and beautiful, so haughty. Give her two years, and he could smell her flower. Favors could be traded, but that fat bitch, Hannah, was on to him. Nothin’ worse than an ugly nigger woman who misses a real man and in bitterness gets her revenge through petty troubles. 92

Shadow of The Conjurer After Solomon and Hannah left, the child took the bag from her neck and curled her lips. She snapped the leather thong holding the bag and threw the medicinal necklace to the ground. The woman picked up the bag to view its contents. She poked a finger into the paste and drew it to her nose, then rubbed a portion between a thumb and finger. She motioned to the girl who scooted to her side, the chains tinkling. The African returned the bag and retied it while the girl eyed the operation with disgust. At its completion the guardian smiled at the girl and reached into her thick hair. The hair hid a different bag laced around the girl’s locks. The woman untied the sack and reached inside, pulling out the tip of her finger and thumb, each now coated with a silvery material. She marked the girl’s face, drawing a series of dots that formed symbols. When finished, she sketched in the ground with her fingers another series of symbols, concentric circles that closed smaller and smaller. She drew a line through the middle, almost a staff, to which the top and bottom were linked with globes at each end, one smaller than the other. At its completion she turned toward the sunlight filtering to the barn floor, moving her hands through the air in a ritualistic manner. “Mangalala nyolu (The eyes of Mangala),” she said toward the roof. Turning to the girl, she wiped the silver dots from the girl’s face in such a way they adhered to her finger. She pressed this finger into the ground, the silver remnants now forming a small silver dot within the smaller globe. Then, the African took the girl’s face into her hands. “Po tolo (Deep beginning). Po tolo.” The woman reached down to the drawing in the dirt and drew a gangly-looking stick creature, dog-like, far from the silver-dotted globe. “Nika dandang (Protect Nika),” she quietly finished as she stared at the Eyes. Cradling the girl’s head to her shoulder, they both turned to the receding sun. The woman’s hand flicked the air. As the silvery material fell to the ground, the sun seemed to brighten before falling into the earth. Shafts of light came through the barn slats and reflected off the shimmering and cascading material, momentarily speckling both Africans’ faces with a kaleidoscope of colors. They settled back into the straw in each other’s arms.

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week passed, then another. Jeremiah prodded Solomon. Were they ready for Jacob? Their primary tutelage would transfer to the white son of the master when Solomon advised the Africans had accepted their fate. That certainty resulted in their freedom from shackles, but not the barn. 93

CHAPTER TWELVE On that day Jeremiah sat on the porch settee, drinking coffee, as he directed a house girl to call Jacob. Solomon stood with his hat in hand behind the master, waiting for instructions. In a few minutes Sarah and Jacob opened the front door. Jeremiah motioned Jacob to the bench next to the settee. “My son,” said Jeremiah. “Hear the instruction of thy father, and forsake not the law of thy mother.” “Proverbs 1:8,” replied Jacob. “Yes. Your mother and I have great hopes for you, but the world is an oozing scab of disappointment. To be prepared you must learn the ways of men…and women. I wish that it was easy, but it will not be so. You can cipher. You can write. And I am very proud to say you know when to be quiet, at least most of the time. But you trust too much.” “I don’t understand, father.” “I don’t expect you to, Jacob. You must learn to master Fiery Hill. You must deal with the problems I deal with. Not play. Not like before. Life prefers to remain under a mask. Sometimes, it will stick its head out only to fool you. You think one thing. It does another. To learn, do not doubt you will make mistakes.” “For this God is our God for ever and ever: He will be our guide even unto death. Psalms 48:14,” noted a proud Jacob. “Hmmph,” snorted Jeremiah loudly. Sarah gave her husband a pained expression. He waved her off. “Son, memorizing Bible verses are wonderful for children. But Bible verses are not life’s experiences. I turn the cheek, but I want a pistol in my pocket. Don’t get too close to those you must trust…because trusting too much will cause you pain. Trusting too much will cause you poverty. Do you understand?” Jacob dropped his head, obviously trying, but with no experience the lesson was lost. Sarah placed a hand on her son. “You will, Jacob.” “Don’t indulge his weakness, Sarah. If you want to cite Bible verses, son, remember this one. Romans 5:19, ‘For as by one man's disobedience many were made sinners, so by the obedience of one shall many be made righteous.’ Simple. Be obedient. You remember those Africans I bought?” Jacob’s head rose, his eyes and senses suddenly sharp. “Yes.” “They no longer wear their shackles. They know we mean them no harm. Solomon taught them a few words of English, but they cannot communicate. As long as they cannot communicate, they cannot work. You, son, will be their English teacher.” 94

Shadow of The Conjurer Jacob was puzzled. “I thought you did not wish for our slaves to read and write, father.” “Of course I don’t, Jacob. Did I say teach them to read and write? Teach them to speak our language! Goodness, that was not difficult to understand.” Jacob grew red-faced in embarrassment. “They speak some gibberish, some heathen language from that black continent. English, Jacob. English will save them! Make them part of our culture. Make them a home.” Jeremiah said the last statement with emphasis, bouncing a fist across his knee. “Son, you have until Christmas. That’s two months. Solomon can help. Bring those Africans to Christmas church. Have them sit in the pews with our other slaves and sing a Christmas song to our Savior. You understand?” Jacob nodded in agreement. Jeremiah rose from the settee, grabbing his walking stick. Sarah rose with him, taking his arm. “And they had better comprehend what they are singing. You hear? That is your challenge. I must know they grasp it! Anything beyond that will be maple sugar icing on a ginger cake. Go to the barn now. Your students await you, professor.” With that Jeremiah and Sarah walked into the house, leaving Jacob excited.

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olomon opened the barn door, causing the Africans to raise their arms to shield their squinting eyes from the bright rays.

Jacob stared at the females who in turn stared back, eyeing him in a direct manner that was dangerous for a slave, but was understandable for the newly servile. Jacob turned to Solomon, obviously questioning the approach necessary between humans who did not understand each other. “Go on, Master Jacob. Master Jeremiah wants you to deal with them.” “I don’t know what to do.” “They know a little. Food. Water. Eat. Sleep. Basics. I would do more, but your father wants you to learn from the work.” “Maybe so, Solomon, but father gave me this task only a few minutes ago.” “I can’t say for sure, Master Jacob, but I suspects if you think how you would feel if you swapped places with them, maybe you could understand what someone should try on you.” 95

CHAPTER TWELVE “That’s good, Solomon. I think if I was them, I would be afraid, except they don’t look afraid.” “That is true, Master Jacob. Maybe they ain’t afraid because…because they have been here two weeks and know we good to them.” “Yes, father said that. They sure are watching me. Much more so than you.” “You haven’t been feeding them, Master Jacob. I have. I’m common. You not.” “You suspect they know father owns Fiery Hill, and I am his son?” “They surely do, Master Jacob. They saw Master Jeremiah was in charge in Huntsville. He was the man with authority. They with you both from Huntsville, those other slaves following with respect. They can tell father and son.” “I suppose so, Solomon.” “Master Jeremiah said they were in Cuba on a sugar plantation. That long enough to see masters and slaves. They know the difference. Difference the same whether Cuba or Alabama. Masters act like masters. Slaves act like slaves.” “Father wants me to act like a man. Scares me thinkin’ about it.” “You’re up to it, Master Jacob. Just put yourself in their position.” “Then it would start with I am father’s son. But they will wonder why I am here, instead of you or Hannah. So I guess that if I am to teach, I must demonstrate that I wish to do so. They must see me in charge. What do you think, Solomon? Is that sound?” “Wish I had thought of it, Master Jacob,” said Solomon lavishing the praise. “They will want to know what you are doing out here, alright. Any ideas?” “As a matter of fact, I do. Bring me some food, but bits of many different things. I need a large platter. Two apples. Cornpone. Beans and salt pork. Buttermilk.” “Master Jacob, that better than my supper last night. What you going to do with that good food?” “Teach, Solomon. I’m going to teach.” Solomon brought a wooden tray filled with food. In the corner rolling and swaying gently with Solomon’s steps were red waxy apples, one slightly bruised, but both were crisp and unspoiled. Solomon laid the fare in front of Jacob. Across from Jacob, grasped in his unwavering observation sat the Africans. The child was comfortable, her arm surrounding the woman, eyes reflecting only curiosity. They made no move toward the tray. “Solomon, I want you to go outside the stall. Stay in the barn, but I must be in charge.” 96

Shadow of The Conjurer Solomon quickly exited, turning to stand beside the split cedar rails that composed the stall fence. Jacob moved closer to the Africans, sliding the wooden tray until it was near the females. The girl seemed to wait for a signal from the woman. The Africans were smart, knowing that the form of a child did not necessarily translate into benevolence, knowing that the blacks who fed them had no authority, that this child had more ability to harm or help than any of these servants. The woman reached for an apple. As she did, the boy reached out as well, enclosing his hand around hers, resulting in her momentary alarm. Jacob smiled with his hand around hers. “Ap-ple,” he said slowly and deliberately. “Apple,” Jacob repeated, lifting his hand and picking up the fruit. He said the word a third time, again slowly articulating the syllables. He turned to the girl with the same broad smile, hoping for a connection, a reaction. The gesture was a signal of friendship as he placed the fruit in the girl’s hands. Jacob waited. The girl nodded, looked at the fruit, and took a bite. She watched Jacob quizzically. After a moment of silence, as if to convey she was in control, she said the word while chewing the first bite, “Ap-pell” with the accent on the second syllable. Jacob wished to make this girl his friend, maybe more if he could understand the concept of ‘more’. And when she repeated his words, it was if trapped emotions broke through a dam built from years of control. With that accented word, Jacob whooped a “yes!” His smile broadened tightly beyond what an onlooker might find possible. He picked up the last apple, turned to the woman, placed the fruit in her hands, and gleefully repeated “Apple!” “App-ell”, said the woman, cranking up the energy in the receptive boy. “Apple! Apple!” said Jacob, turning like a top, both of the Africans somewhat incredulous with his delight, but caught up in his joy, notwithstanding their caution. “Good, Master Jacob. They understand,” said Solomon. Jacob was ecstatic with his small accomplishment, anxious for more. Bending down to the tray, he pointed to the cornpone, then to the apples in the hands of the females, then to the bowls of beans and fatback. Waving his hands over the tray, he enunciated “Food.” Then, pointing to each of the items again, Jacob repeated “Food” and completed the act by miming eating with his hands to his mouth over and over. The woman mimed eating also, like Jacob, and slowly said “Food”. Then she pointed to the core she had in her hand and said “App-ell”. Jacob smiled, infatuated with the task. This was easier than he thought. 97

CHAPTER TWELVE “I said that they already knows ‘food’, Master Jacob. I taught them that.” “I know, Solomon. But they know all of this. This cornpone. That buttermilk. And those beans. They are all ‘food’. Don’t you see? They know I am trying to teach them. I am more than Jacob. I am a teacher.” “Master Jacob, I’m not arguing with you on that. It’s just…well…” “Well, what, Solomon?” Solomon stopped. He had tried to make a point and that silly boy did not understand. Solomon was a wise man. Solomon the Overlooker. Solomon the man in charge of making Fiery Hill run like clockwork. Solomon enabled Jacob’s success. Jacob turned to the Africans and pointed to himself, then enunciated “Jay-cob”. He pointed to Solomon. “Sol-o-mon.” Then he pointed to the woman, opening his mouth and feathering his fingers into the air toward the African, playing for a word, a word to call them, a word other than ‘Africans’. The woman said nothing. Jacob repeated his name while pointing to himself, wanting a full sentence, but afraid it might confuse the issue. He just said ‘Jacob’ over and over. Finally, the woman said “Jay-co-bey.” Jacob nodded, but his brow furrowed in frustration, the body language picked up by the woman. He pointed to Solomon and motioned for the woman to speak. She looked at him, nodded. “Soul-a-man.” Jacob smiled, nodded in agreement, and pointed to the woman who again said nothing. Jacob’s frustration was brimming. She was smart, maybe cautious, but she knew what he wanted to hear. Jacob had no doubt. So she was avoiding it, refusing to acknowledge her name. “Muso a dindingo kannu,” said the girl and pointed to the woman. Jacob frowned, mouthing what he thought he heard. “Moose-o-what?” The girl repeated herself as the woman smiled. “Muso a dindingo kannu.” Jacob scratched his head, looking at Solomon who shrugged, hiding his satisfaction in his young master’s inability to fathom the girl. “Miss African, I cannot understand. It’s not simple.” The girl stared at Jacob as did the woman, awaiting another link between cultures. Jacob pointed to himself again. “Jacob.” Then he pointed to the woman, “Mooseo?” 98

Shadow of The Conjurer The woman smiled, shaking her head in agreement. “Muso.” She pointed to herself, repeating “Muso.” She pointed to Jacob. “Jay-co-bey.” She turned to the girl. “Muso a dindingo kannu.” The girl slid closer to the woman, grabbing her arm and placing her head on the woman’s shoulder. “Muso a dindingo kannu (the woman loves the child).” Gratified, Jacob continued, “Moose-o it is.” Jacob looked at the females, pointed to the girl, and turned to the woman with an inquisitive stare. The woman ran her hand through the girl’s coarse but shiny hair. The girl closed her eyes in contentment at the woman’s caress. The woman responded with her own contentment, almost a whisper, a purr. “Nika,” she said. Then she repeated it a little louder but with affection. “Nika.” “So that is the girl’s name,” said Jacob. Solomon watched without revealing his jealousy in Jacob’s victory, small though it was.

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN The slaves built Muso and Nika a one-room log cabin chinked with mud at the end of the long line of similar cabins that made up the slave quarters. The cabin held a large stone chimney made from the broken limestone littering the hills around the plantation. The chimney doubled as a kitchen as well as the winter heat source. The plantation blacksmith made a heavy iron flange that extended from the stone. It held a swiveling hooked bar for cooking. Two heavy iron pots with lids lay on the stone hearth along with an iron skillet used for baking pone. The slaves of Fiery Hill were fortunate that Jeremiah allowed for the expense. Most plantations made their slaves cook from stoneware crockery made in the plantation kilns. Some had less than that. They baked cornpone ash cakes laid directly on the ash of the fire, sometimes rolled in wet cabbage leaves, and sometimes without. Muso’s austere cabin had a dirt floor barren of its grass which was even now transitioning to the hard-packed clay like the other cabins. A small bed was provided made from cedar and strung with ropes. On top of it was a mattress filled with corn shucks and dried river grass. The insides were turned out once or twice a year, often depending on whether the lice and fleas were a problem. A plain cotton quilt adorned the lumpy mattress. Below the rope bed was a trundle bed for Nika with a similar mattress and blanket. A small table with three chairs stood in another corner, the chairs woven with strips of leather. There were no windows. The door was roughly slatted and faced away from the normal direction of the wind. Jacob’s initial success in determining the names of the slaves was a short-lived victory. Jacob quickly discovered that Muso and Nika had difficulty understanding the intricacies of English. Of course, Jacob understood not a single word of their language. He could not attribute the slow pace to their obstinacy, stupidity, or a defective tutor though 100

Shadow of The Conjurer the reality was the Africans did not have his motivation that was the engine of his irritation. Muso and Nika memorized a few words. They asked about ‘bell’ since it rang at four in the morning every day except Sunday, then again at the end of the workday. They knew the more complex word ‘ration’ as the process when food was handed out once a week to each slave cabin. Unfortunately, the sheer volume of words slowed real progress. Jacob could not convey the structure of sentences although he was successful in differentiating verbs from nouns. It exacerbated his frustration because it was the first week of December, and he knew that his Christmas task would soon be upon him. Communication, even a rudimentary exchange of words, was not a desire. It was a necessity. So today Jacob decided it was time Muso and Nika memorized a song. They understood singing by attending Sunday service. Jacob decided on the new Christmas song ‘Silent Night’. His family heard the hymn in Huntsville, and Jeremiah was fond of it. Jacob walked to the females’ quarters and heard Muso angrily addressing Nika in their language, the tone impossible to misunderstand. The girl was frantic. He entered to find Nika on her hands and knees looking under the bed. She then moved around the cabin scattering their few possessions. Finally, she took a stick and searched the cold ashes in the hearth, obviously looking for something valuable. Muso sat down at their small table and folded her hands as the females failed to acknowledge his presence with other than an irritating glance. Nika sat on the stone hearth, tears streaming down her face. Jacob felt her sorrow and sat next to her. She shuffled to the opposite side of the structure and turned away, sobbing in short gasps. The annoyance from Nika was vexing for Jacob because he genuinely wanted to help. He reached to comfort Nika, but she shook his hand away. Jacob looked to Muso who emoted consternation in a swarm of African words. Finally, she walked to Nika and placed her arms around the child, wiping away her tears, Nika’s sorrow somewhat placated by the consoling attention of her guardian. Muso smiled, and Nika tried although the child’s sadness wore through her attempt at recovery. Muso pantomimed the reason for Nika’s misery, pointing to the girl’s hair, pulling it up to show Jacob a leather string inside the tangle of hair, then flaring her hands out in question. It was Jacob’s turn to be student. He realized they must feel the same way about his lessons, unable to comprehend the chasm between different languages. He shook his head, not understanding her point. Nika tried to get Jacob to understand, the distraction taking her mind from her distress. She pointed to the leather medicine bag around Muso’s neck. 101

CHAPTER THIRTEEN “Bag?” asked Jacob. Muso and Nika nodded. Nika excitedly repeated the word ‘bag’. Jacob now understood that Nika was missing some kind of bag that had been hidden in her hair. He pointed to the small leather bag around Muso’s neck. “Medicine?” Muso shook her head. “No Jacob medicine.” She removed the leather bag from her neck and placed it on the table, untying it, and removing the asafetida balls and flattening the empty bag. She picked up a cloth bag filled with corn meal. “Animal, yes,” she said, pointing to the leather. Then she pointed to the cloth bag. “Cotton, no.” Jacob understood that the missing bag was leather like the bag holding the asafetida paste. “No Jacob medicine.” She pointed to the asafetida balls lying on the table. Then she pointed to the leather bag. “Muso medicine.” “Muso medicine?” “Muso medicine, yes. Jacob medicine, no,” returned Muso with Nika nodding vigorously in agreement. “Muso medicine,” Nika repeated. Jacob suddenly realized the problem. His father had remarked in the past about the slaves’ superstitious nature, some of them wearing what Jeremiah called ‘heathen charms’, leftovers from that ‘pagan dark continent’. Nika had lost a charm, an amulet of significant value based on Nika’s despair and Muso’s anxiety. It was a leather bag, not a cloth bag, small because it was normally hidden in the girl’s hair. Jacob touched the flattened leather bag. “Animal. No cotton.” Then, in dramatic fashion Jacob opened the bag and pointed inside. “No Jacob medicine. Yes Muso medicine.” At that, Muso reached over and for the first time tenderly touched one of the enemy, knowing Jacob was trying to help and showing her appreciation. This energized Jacob. The Africans were not important to Jeremiah. Nonetheless, the responsibility given by him to Jacob was. But Nika. When Jacob’s mind found time to bend away from his father’s task, his heart took over. Jacob could not put his finger on it, but the heart looked at Nika different than the mind. Yes, she was student, but the dark eyes beckoned, sometimes sad or sometimes haughty, and even sometimes indifferent to him, but at all times causing a flutter. It was a good feeling, drying his throat, his mind skittering away from the things boys appreciate to the fuzzy feelings of boys turning to men. 102

Shadow of The Conjurer These feelings created action. Jacob could talk to the others. He could organize a search. If the charm was in the cabin, Muso or Nika would have found it by now. So Jacob felt it was somewhere else. Jacob pulled at Muso’s hand, then motioned for Nika’s. The three emerged into the morning light and walked to the barn. As Jacob assumed, Solomon and his men were storing hay in the loft for winter. “Solomon, I need a moment.” Solomon came down the ladder, glancing at the Africans with an inquisitive frown. “Yes, Master Jacob.” “I need your help to organize a search.” “Master Jeremiah says I have to finish this job today, and this afternoon I have to check on those new slaves up on that hill to see how they coming with that clearing. I am powerful busy.” “It won’t take long.” “Master Jacob, I would have to tell…” “Solomon, father told me to teach Muso and Nika English by Christmas. That is three weeks. They are mightily distracted because they lost something. I need to find it so they can move on to my lessons.” “Well, Master Jeremiah says a lot of things; and if he do, they all important.” “I know. But I will be in your debt if you help me. Will you help me, Solomon?” Solomon paused to consider. He had time to help Jacob. He had winter to finish the clearing. One of these days, Jacob would be the master. Solomon was too smart not to plan for that. This would give him some leverage; but he wanted Jacob to know he did not have to help, that he did it because Jacob asked him, even if that meant disappointing Jeremiah. “Master Jacob, I want to help. I truly do. But if I do, Master Jeremiah will find out I left important things unfinished, ‘specially since these Africans supposed to be your job.” “I’ll take the blame, Solomon.” “Why don’t you explain what you need, Master Jacob. Maybe it easier than you think. What these blackface pagans telling you?” So Jacob explained. “I saw that bag. Too big to miss,” responded Solomon. “Wonderful. Then Nika must have taken it off and misplaced it.” “Don’t worry, Master Jacob. She make another. Just ole rat bones or something.” “It’s important to them.” 103

CHAPTER THIRTEEN “Your father don’t cotton to charms. Surprised he not take ‘em away when he buy ‘em.” “Maybe that’s why I never saw it. Muso or Nika thought I would take it away.” “Why we need to find something these Africans will forget tomorrow don’t make no sense to me.” “It wouldn’t to you, Solomon. And it doesn’t to me. But it does to them. Father told me to make them feel Fiery Hill was home. How can I do that if we don’t listen to them?” Solomon paused. The boy was right though he could not appreciate a slave’s perspective. Home was defined by one’s ability to make it personal, and a slave had little ability to do that. That was why slaves enjoyed each other’s company; to showcase their personality and their privacies. Maybe the slave did not understand freedom; but they did understand being free, even if it was for a few hours with friends or family. “What do you propose we do?” “Do the easy thing. Ask around. That charm bag looks like medicine bags. Someone picked it up. If you find something, check inside. Don’t know what it is, but it won’t be asafetida paste.” “That’s a good idea. A small group can check with the rest, like spokes on a wheel connect the circle. Quicker that way. And Master Jacob, if that don’t work?” “At least they’ll see I’m trying.”

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hat afternoon the door to the cabin opened, and Solomon entered with a young slave woman. Hiding behind this woman’s tattered linsey cloth skirt was the peeping face of a girl, younger than Nika. The woman pulled on the arm of the girl, thrusting her in front and motioning her to talk. The girl faced Nika and smiled beneath a downturned face, her toes shuffling the dirt into little circles as she fidgeted. In an agitated but almost bubbly voice she said, “Mama told me ta’ talk to you and ‘pologize for what I did. But I tells you, Miss Nika!” Nika’s face reflected surprise, but a pleasant one. “I didn’t know this was yours,” said the girl. “I thought it might be a bag a medicine. But I was hoping it was marbles. If it was marbles, I probably wouldn’t told ‘em about it. But it wasn’t, so’s I come clean. I think this is yours. But what you need with a great big thorn, I don’t know. Ima’ ‘fraid a big thorns. Ain’t youse afraids of ‘em?” The girl’s hand shot out with a leather bag pinched between forefinger and thumb as Nika’s face instantly brightened, knowing this was her treasure. 104

Shadow of The Conjurer Solomon stopped her. “Josey, I said to give it to Master Jacob. He talks with the Africans.” Nika extended a hand toward the bag, trembling in an effort to hold back her excitement. The girl extended her hand but took a quick turn to Jacob instead. “No!” screamed Nika in an anguished voice, unlike the quiet girl Jacob knew. Muso intervened. Anger was painted on Nika’s face at her guardian’s intervention. Jacob watched in fascination as Nika’s need almost overcame her patience. Josey ignored the anger in the air, the need for the bag. “I’m sorry, Master Jacob. I forgot she don’t know how we talk. Gosh, but you know what they is saying? I heard that woman there talk the other day, and it was funny. I said to my friend, James…” Solomon interrupted. “Be quiet girl. Just hand it to Master Jacob.” He would talk to Josey’s mother. The girl should not be so open with white folk, especially white children who talk to their white mothers and fathers. It was a lesson slaves sometimes learned the hard way; but even at relatively harmless Fiery Hill, it was a lesson they should learn through adults and not by mistake. The girl obliged. Jacob took the bag, pulling on the string holding it closed. He wanted to confirm it was the Africans. Muso did not understand Jacob’s intentions. She peered sideways to her fledgling and noted the return of Nika’s anger. She forced Nika to a nearby chair. Jacob’s examination revealed a dusty and silvery material, some chalk, what appeared to be bone chips, bone splinters, and a long thorn. It had to be the charm. He opened it wider and pressed it under the inquiring eye of Muso. Jacob’s expression was inescapable. Was this the bag? Muso smiled at Nika and replied to Jacob. “Yes.” Jacob’s delight was almost as much as the day he discovered their names. He crossed between Muso and Josey, reaching out for Nika’s hand. He placed the trophy squarely in her palm, the satisfaction oozing from his pores. Nika crushed Jacob to her shoulder, startling the boy in the spontaneity that he did not imagine she had, her previous emotional distance from him closed in a moment of joy. She pulled away quickly, placed her left hand on her hip, and thrust her right hand forward to Jacob. Muso grinned. “Good, Jacob. Good.” Josey clapped loudly and in her irritatingly happy tone laughed. “Momma, those African peoples are trying to dance with him. Master Jacob, she trying to dance with you.” 105

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Nika stepped forward and moved her right hand to her lips, kissed the tips, and pushed her hand outwards until her palms were upturned. “Ng i jei (I thank you), Jacob.” Nika seemed to appreciate the boy for the first time as she bowed her head. Jacob understood this universal method of gratitude. He bowed awkwardly in return. “Thank you, Nika.” The pleasure in hearing her say his name quivered throughout his body.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN Jeremiah constructed a church on the grounds of the plantation. It was a nondescript building about forty feet square with heavy cedar posts holding up the roof in the middle, much like their barn. It held a number of simple oak benches made and polished by his carpenter. All the slaves from Fiery Hill, Jeremiah’s family and some nearby white families, all modest farmers, would attend Christmas service at the church. Jeremiah’s slaves made whitewash paint from limestone, a remainder of the ancient seas that covered the area. His slaves crushed the limestone to dust with sledges and added boiling water until it was pasty. It was supplemented with salt to withstand mold and a bit of animal glue to help its adhesion. They painted this gruel on both the inside and outside oak planks of Jeremiah’s little church. Christmas 1831 landed on Sunday, very auspicious because the circuit-riding preacher would bless the newly whitewashed building with a rousing sermon, loud singing, and a sumptuous meal in which all would participate. The slaves were as excited as the Thompsons. In addition to the feast and the smoked hams, Jeremiah made a Christmas tradition of handing out a silver dollar to each family and fifty cents to each single slave. Jeremiah and his family accompanied the visiting preacher into the building moments before the service began, walking down the aisle between benches until they sat in front. The white families sat behind them, followed by the house servants and artisans, then families of field hands and single field hands at the end. Solomon strutted behind Jeremiah, studiously looking around at the attendees. He took a position facing the slaves on a stool sitting next to the wall. After introductions the obligatory long prayer began. God blessed Jeremiah and now his slaves with Fiery Hill and its bounty. God blessed the slaves because He took them from the heathen lands to His breast in the Eden of Alabama, along the way crushing the Indian savage with His Might (and Andy Jackson’s help). The preacher touched upon Luke 107

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 12:47 and its message that the slave must do the Master’s will or be beaten with ‘many stripes’. This was a staple of slave services. Then the singing began, loud and truly genuine. Both masters and slaves accepted God from their different perspectives. Jeremiah even rose and led his congregation in a song, gruffly belting out the solemnity in the day. At its completion Jeremiah gestured to his son. Jacob obliged, and his father encircled his son’s collared neck while turning slightly toward the pastor. “And now reverend, my son Jacob has a treat for us. I gave him the job of teaching two new servants our mother tongue. I understand from my overlooker Jacob has accomplished that. Jacob has taught this woman and child to sing.” Jeremiah nodded to Solomon. The black driver smiled broadly, acknowledging his master’s praise. Jacob moved a step from his father, peering down several rows and motioning for Muso and Nika. All eyes followed the woman and child. Both females wore a dress of homespun cotton and wool, coarse, but very warm. It was dyed with poke berries for a rich color and set with copperas and was paired with a simple white shirt. Muso also wore a striped cotton head scarf, often called a head rag that was wrapped tightly around her head. Her scarred face brought the stares and whispers of black and white alike. These were the ‘Africans’ who were talked about, but rarely seen. This was their coming-out party. Hoots and huzzahs followed three other Negroes who came to the front as a makeshift band. One carried a reed cane flute, another a fiddle, and the last brought a jug. The jug man sat on the floor, his mouth ready to play the earthenware lip, while the others stood. Jacob pulled Muso and Nika to his left, looked directly at the band, and nodded. “Silent Night, Holy Night” Jacob sang, his mother clearly happy; but Jeremiah watched the females, nodding slightly as if giving a noiseless command for Jacob’s choir to begin. “All is calm, all is bright,” Jacob continued as his father shifted impatiently in his seat. The building suddenly vibrated with the voices of the Africans. “Round Yon Virgin, Mother and Child” they sang with a broken accent through the melodic and soulful notes. Their chorus was drawn out, enlarged, and maneuvered into the fullness of musical and lyrical unification, into perfection. The audience was muted, child and adult in sudden awe, some holding hands to their mouths in surprise, including the white families who expected no more than a 108

Shadow of The Conjurer mumble scattered in cracked voices. Instead, they were treated to the sound of singing angels. Jacob moved to the side and back, allowing Muso, Nika, and their band center stage. Sarah’s eyes grew larger until she succumbed by wrapping her arm around Jeremiah, the notes overcoming the Africans’ pronunciation, beautiful voices always overcoming lyrics. The Africans touched something that captivity was unable to submerge. Touched them, not because the Africans were slaves, but because the Africans were Africans. In the core of every slave each felt what they were innately capable of. That before their hearts and hands were harnessed, they were children without blemishes, unconquered, and capable of strength, of beauty that God intended. And such music broke the chains in their minds for at least a few moments of surrender to its uplifting character. At first it was a single clap that beat slowly in tempo, one, two, three. Then a foot stamp was synchronized with a clap. Then another synchronized clap. It simply crescendoed with more claps and stamping. The audience sensed that the claps and stamps, while providing cadence also required emphasis, syncopation. The slaves were entranced, obliged to not only clap, but sway and move together, making the audience alive as one musical and dancing being. Muso and Nika seemed equally moved, improvising an ‘up tempo’ trend in the chorus as they repeated ‘heavenly peace’ and ‘Savior is born’ a little faster, then a little slower, louder, then a little softer. They did not repeat the same beat or trend. It was a note in one octave raised to another, a slight change in the melody to exhort their audience. Without a doubt the females were the head and voice of the swaying creature around them. Only the itinerant preacher seemed disturbed as he sensed the blacks of Fiery Hill were moving to a different beat, the music not fitting his European-influenced white aesthetic. In his mind, the origin of this foreign sound was uncomfortably elsewhere in dark jungles and open savannas, those tableaus unknown and forbidding. As the song drifted away to its soft conclusion, Jeremiah stepped forward to grab his son. And the slaves of Fiery Hill erupted with ‘Alleluias’ and ‘Praise God’, a hidden pride and hope released in their praise. Who could blame them? Jeremiah motioned for his audience to quiet. “Jacob, while I expected words, I never expected such…strength. God blesses Fiery Hill.” The pastor, noting Jeremiah’s happiness at the performance and recognizing the power of Jeremiah’s pocket book, belted out “God does perform miracles!” Jeremiah did not take away from Jacob’s success by asking the females questions. He could always check on that later, would in fact do so. However, if he had taken the time, 109

CHAPTER FOURTEEN he would have found that they understood about Jesus, would have accepted good wrapped in swaddling clothes as not only acceptable, but as unmistakable as young is untarnished. Muso looked at the beaming Nika and Jacob. And she thought to herself, even in this white man’s world of slaves and masters, young was hopeful.

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he dinner was truly grand, including chicken, wild turkey, deer, smoked pork, roast pork, beef, even mutton since Fiery Hill needed not only their wool and meat, but its lawns required their grass-clipping talents. Stews were also available, corn made in a dozen different ways, sweet potatoes, and pies, fruit and pecan. Afterwards the slaves’ gifts were handed out by Jeremiah in kingly fashion. Later, while spitting at the cold of the setting sun, the slave’s dancing and partying would hold sway as Jeremiah’s silence reflected acceptance but not approval of their release. Jacob broke away from his family who were ensconced inside Fiery Hill with the dreary preacher. He had not privately congratulated Muso and Nika. He wanted them to know how appreciative he was, not only because he liked them, but also because the Africans refreshed his feeling of success. Though Jacob could not communicate in a real sense with either female, their rudimentary communication, compared to a month ago, was much better. It seemed that his assistance with the amulet forged genuine friendship, and for Jacob’s sake they tried harder to understand this new foreign tongue. If it could be said Jacob appreciated Muso’s trust, it could be said that Nika’s emerging friendship made him happy. Maybe her appreciation made him happier because he missed Mathias. Maybe it was because he was the type of person who needed others to like him. Or maybe it was simply his enchantment with the girl. But for whatever reason, he needed her smile and the reachable person behind it. Jacob knocked on their shabby door, instead of opening the door as if he owned the cabin. He heard giggling within which grew quieter but did not cease at the noise. “Muso? Nika? It is Jacob.” “Jacob. Come. Welcome,” said Muso. Jacob stepped inside. Muso was standing over their small rough table. Sitting in woven chairs covered with animal skins were Nika and a giggling Josey. Josey giggled louder. “I have so much fun listening to them, Master Jacob. I showed Nika my marble and my corn shuck doll. Nika likes my doll. My doll’s name is Grace. My momma said I could stay with Nika while they go to the dance. Isn’t that something?” 110

Shadow of The Conjurer “Yes, it is, Josey.” “You know what else, Master Jacob? My momma told me that I shouldn’t talk ta’ you so much.” “We don’t talk much, Josey.” “No. No, no. You don’t understand, Master Jacob. She says that you are Master Jeremiah’s son. If I say too much, Master Jeremiah might be mad and sell us. You always been so friendly to me. I don’t know why she says that. Do you know why? Because if I knew, I might…” “It’s not important, Josey. I would never say anything to my father unless, of course, you want to leave Fiery Hill,” said the grinning boy. Josey’s eyes grew larger in suspicion. Then she relaxed. “Oh, I get it now, Master Jacob, you funnin’ with me. I should know better than that. After all…” “I need to do my job, and Grace needs a nap. Why don’t you lie down with her?” Josey retreated reluctantly to the bed. Jacob pointed to the door and with his eyes signaled Muso and Nika to follow him. They walked to a nearby tree. Jacob pointed to both and sang the first words of ‘Silent Night’. Then, taking the corners of his mouth with the index finger of each hand curled his lips into a broad smile. “Good. Sing. Silent Night.” Nika barged in. “Thank you, Jacob. Muso, Nika, like sing. People happy. Father happy?” “Yes,” he replied joyfully, absorbing the fact of her concern. The noise from the slamming cabin door caused them to swivel. It was Josey again, apparently loath with being left behind. Before anyone named Jacob could tell her to go back inside, Josey shouted. “It’s okay. Grace is sleeping. I can be quiet. I’ll just listen because momma wouldn’t want me to be left alone.” Jacob sighed, wishing the girl’s absence. He started to tell her to leave, and Josey interrupted. “I can help, Master Jacob. I knows English. My momma says I talk real good.” “Josey, I really…” “Like that tree we besides. It is persimmon, Nika. Purse, you know like Miss Sarah’s bag. Oh, I don’t know if you know what a purse is, but it sounds like Purse-sim-man. You know, like Master Jeremiah or Solomon. A man. Purse-sim-Man! Tree.” “Josey, I don’t think this is helping,” said Jacob, briefly forgetting his own excitement at the beginning of his lessons with the Africans. For the moment, his voice held an edge though patience was one of his virtues, even if forced upon him by Jeremiah. 111

CHAPTER FOURTEEN Josey saw she was losing the battle, so she looked for something else. The sun was setting in the west. The brightness around them flickered, dark and distinct shadows enlarging their footprint of trees. Josey bent down and pointed to the shadow of the persimmon tree. “See, Nika? Shadow.” Then, she pointed to her own shadow. She repeated ‘shadow’ with finality, then pointed to Jacob’s, then Nika’s. “Shadow, everyone. Shadow. Shadow. Shadow.” Muso and Nika looked at each other, Muso bending over and actually laughing. Nika took Josey’s hand this time, holding her gaze squarely. “Josey,” she said, then pointed to herself. “Nika. Shadow. Nika. Shadow.” Josey shook her head. “I don’t understand, Nika. Master Jacob, she trying ta’ tell me somethin’.” Nika looked to Muso who shrugged, both females searching for the right word in a short burst of their native tongue. Nika turned to Jacob. Pointing to herself, she said, “Nika.” Nika pointed to Jacob. “Jacob.” Jacob slowly nodded. “Nika. Shadow.” She looked purposefully to Jacob, trying to pull the solution from him in spite of Jacob’s difficulty. “Shadow. Nika. Name.” Jacob’s brow was knotted, but in a moment it unfurrowed as the answer arrived. They had crossed the void. “It’s the same. That is what you are saying. It’s the same. Nika is her African name, Josey. But her English translation is Shadow. My God, it’s Shadow!” Josey’s hand covered her mouth. “Master Jacob, this is one of those things I’m not supposed to tell momma, so’s I won’t. You said ‘My God’, but he didn’t strike you down. So’s I be careful not to say anything to Master Jeremiah. He’s not God.” Jacob’s excitement refused a laughing retort to the silly girl. Instead, he grabbed Nika’s hand. Then he pointed to himself. “Jacob.” Then, he pointed to Nika and said “Shadow”, the happiness almost boiling over in jubilation. “Shadow,” he repeated for emphasis, a sense of certainty on his face. “Nika. Shadow. Same.” “Yes, Jacob. Say-aim.” Then after a pause, she repeated. “Shadow. Nika. Same.” They looked at each other and, despite the barriers, saw they were truly friends.

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uso awoke with the scream, her senses on adrenaline. She perceived she was in the jungle, a knife in hand. An unseen foe brought fear to her heart. However, the thought was fleeting as the reality of the dark and

Shadow of The Conjurer murky cabin closed around her, the thrashing of the child taking her notice. “Nika! Nika! Awake, child.” Nika’s thrashing died along with the muffled gasps outlining her despair. Slowly her eyes opened, reflecting the faint light escaping from the fire in the cabin’s hearth. “It is just a dream, my child,” calmed Muso. “What was it you saw?” “I don’t know. I…I escaped it again. The Dream. I don’t think I can go back to sleep.” “Mangala protects us all, my child.” “Mangala does not protect me. You do,” scoffed Nika. “Mangala works through me. He can bring you peace.” “Maybe.” “I influenced your dreams when we arrived at Fiery Hill. That protection has not been lifted, Nika. Evil sometimes seeps into our dreams, despite our desires to the opposite.” “We are a long way from home.” “My child, home never leaves, regardless of difficult surroundings.” “I want to believe that.” “If you cannot trust in Mangala, trust in Muso.” “Will your spell keep the bad dreams away?” Muso reached into Nika’s hair and pulled out the magic bag and released the strap, pulling it free. “This bag keeps the bad dreams away only if you believe. Doubt, Nika, doubt is your evil shadow. Mangala holds a special place in His heart for Nika. So I say again, do you trust Muso?” “Yes, I do.” “Then the dreams will stay away. Go to sleep, my child.” Nika turned to her side and curled into a ball, pushing her small behind into Muso. Muso turned toward the girl, allowing her hand to encircle Nika, and pulled her closer to Muso’s stomach. In a moment a pop was heard in the fireplace as a small bit of enflamed charcoal blew out from the hearth. The room was dark but safe.

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN Fiery Hill - June 10, 1837

At his eighteenth birthday Jacob Thompson was elevated to overseer. He had finished a year of apprenticeship, after which he had spent the last year practicing with Solomon. Jacob walked confidently to the dining table. Tonight he sat at the opposite end of the table from his father, a place normally taken by his mother. Sarah would sit next to Jeremiah in the chair Jacob formally occupied, a sign of his manhood. She rose to greet Jacob as he quickly paced the few steps to her and embraced her fondly. Jeremiah dismissed Solomon who stood next to him. Solomon watched Jacob take a place of honor. Solomon’s anger was barely controlled within a subservient smile, a façade of pleasure, the cruelty of birth more important to losing his position than his talent in retaining it. Earlier, Jeremiah called the slaves for a ceremony in which he patted Solomon on the back. From Solomon’s perspective this demonstrated Solomon was a good nigger dog, Jeremiah’s good nigger dog who helped Jacob take the reins. Then Jeremiah hugged the boy, yes ‘boy’, and made a show of the fact that Jacob’s time had arrived. Overseer at eighteen. Rich planter’s son always. Add ignorant. Add ‘not ready’. Add ‘needs Solomon the man, not Solomon the good nigger dog’. For once in his life, Solomon let his true feelings leak out to a white man. He raised a disgruntled eyebrow at Jacob as he passed. He knew Jacob would do nothing. During dinner, more like a banker questioning his teller than father to son, Jeremiah remarked. “Jacob, tell us about your first day as overseer.” “No different than before, father. My duties have been the same for over a year. I simply have the title now.” 114

Shadow of The Conjurer “Daily report is required from my manager. It conveys my trust in you as an employee, not just my son.” “As you wish. I arose before dawn to ring the bell. Our Negroes arrived at the barn at sunrise for their work assignments.” “Did Muso rouse you to ring the bell?” “Does it matter, father?” “I suppose not. Until I lose work because you shirk your responsibilities.” Jacob tensed but discussed the day’s progress, the slow extraction of stumps in another cleared one hundred acres, and the repair of several tools by the blacksmith and his apprentice, Jacob’s friend, Mathias. Five field hands, one woman and four men, were sick with cold plague, and one woman was recovering slowly from child bed fever after a related infection. “Muso is treating them and closely watching the woman, Mary, wife of Job. Seems that between Doctor Johnson and Muso she will recover, but I’m unsure she should have further children. Might kill her says Doc.” Muso entered the room with a large soup bowl and began ladling out the thick stew. “Might kill Job if she don’t. That man sure loves Mary and those kids. She stronger than Doc thinks. Muso knows. And don’t forget, this last is another boy. Mary makes boys. Strong boys like their daddy.” “Well said, Muso,” said Jeremiah. Muso plopped a large chunk of mutton into Jeremiah’s bowl with finality. “And since we are talking about Muso, Muso heard that crack about waking Master Jacob. Before Jacob, Solomon most of the time wake himself…unless he drunk. And don’t preach to me, Master Jeremiah. I knows we don’t get our jug corn by you. I knows it wrong, and I knows bad jug corn make us crazy. But Solomon pretty dependable. So is Master Jacob, and Master Jacob don’t drink.” “I won’t worry, Muso, except for your soul.” “Um, umm. Seems we have this conversation every day, and every day I tell you I love Jesus.” “I hope you do, but I’ll worry less when you no longer sleep in sermons.” “God made that seventh day to rest, and he knows I need it.” “God needs your attention also, Mammy Muso. And I do God’s bidding.” “True, Master Jeremiah. So do I. We all do at Fiery Hill, don’t we?” 115

CHAPTER FIFTEEN Sarah chimed in, always on top of making peace. “This stew is excellent. What else will you surprise us with?” “Your favorite, Miss Sarah. Nika and Josey have made chess pie. But for Master Jeremiah they made pecan pie. Last year’s pecans still mighty good.” Elizabeth, Eve, and Esther, Jacob’s younger sisters, squealed in delight. “And do we have heavy cream, Mammy Muso?” asked Esther. “Yes, we do, child, whipped with powdered sugar inside and brown sugar cooked in butter sprinkled on top.” “And you will not get a bite, unless you eat your meal,” said Sarah sternly. “Jacob, I talked with Benjamin Spangler in Huntsville the other day,” said Jeremiah. At that moment the door opened and Nika entered, carrying a tray with slices of pie, butter, and bowls of heavy cream and brown sugar. The girls’ attention was given to the dessert. Jacob’s to Nika. Nika at seventeen was voluptuous but misleadingly delicate after years of stares and Muso’s careful watch of hot-blooded field hands. Such attention gave Nika self-assurance, knowing her power over Jacob and other men. She knew when to let her allure talk for her, knew when to smile and the many forms of a smile, beguiling or entertaining, happy, demure, or sly. Though Nika wore a scarf around her head, the white-laced shirt was unbuttoned at the top from the heat of the kitchen, revealing her smooth young skin in its vee, small beads of sweat glistening and holding sway for Jacob. In the presence of Jeremiah and Sarah, she was reserved; but when serving Jacob, she batted her eyes and dropped a little lower, a little closer. Jacob noticed the beads of sweat. His eyes moved in a quick clip down to the breasts’ bulge in her cotton dress, then up to her eyes as his nostrils flared with the slight mustiness of her proximity. “Jacob, did you hear what I said?” “Sorry, father.” “Benjamin’s daughter, Pamela, is going to a female academy in Mississippi next fall. He was hoping that before then, you might call on the family and Pamela at their home, Magnolia Grove. He would like your advice for his plantation. He is between overseers.” “Meet Pamela?” questioned an awakened Jacob. Nika rose at the side of Jacob, her eyes freezing on Jeremiah, alert and erect. “Yes, meet Pamela. She celebrates her sixteenth birthday. Benjamin is inviting several families, but he specifically asked about you. Pamela is quite beautiful. You are a 116

Shadow of The Conjurer man now, old enough to consider courting. You should accept this request, Jacob,” regarded Jeremiah. “As would I, dear,” said Sarah. “The Spanglers have a large home and extensive wealth.” “We plant corn this month. It’s critical I remain here,” replied Jacob hurriedly. Nika almost shook her head in agreement, but instead took a quick step backwards, remaining hard against the wall as if needing the support. “It’s a week’s absence. A nice vacation. Part of the trip will be on Fearn’s Canal by barge. You’ve never been to Somerville either,” said Jeremiah. “You can advise Mr. Spangler, father. You have more experience than I.” “I do. But I am married, and you are not.” “I’m not ready.” “Your grandfather married at seventeen to a woman he knew for two weeks before their ceremony. I married your mother at nineteen.” “Father, what worked for you may not be the same for me. Times have changed.” Jeremiah hunched forward aggressively. “Why do you always challenge me, Jacob? Times have not changed. Pamela will be at school for two years. A wedding won’t happen this summer!” Jacob sighed loudly. Jeremiah did not retreat, glaring at his son. “Well?” In the silence Nika lurched, laid the pecan pie at Jeremiah’s side along with the bowls of cream and sugar, then fled to the kitchen, afraid to hear the discussion. “Of course, father. As you wish. Maybe I jumped to conclusions.” Jacob knew his father had agreed to his attendance.

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osey whispered confidentially. “Nika, I is all mouth some time, and I know a little short on smarts. But I plenty smart when it come to life. Mammy Muso has good life. Good men when she wants ‘em. This a good life for all us at Fiery Hill…as long as we don’t forget who we are.” “Josey, you enlarge my intention. I don’t care what Jacob does. I do what I want. Muso says men are good for where and when we need them. Otherwise, this life we nigger women take is our own. We do the wash together. Hoe together in the fields. We quilt together. Most of the time we are quite happy with that arrangement. But singin’ and 117

CHAPTER FIFTEEN dancin’ pumps my blood. Time with Mammy and you…that quiets me. Makes me peaceful. Helps me see God as a woman.” “You one crazy African. Where you get those ideas? But Good Lord Jesus! You did it again. Get me off a what I tryin’ ta’ say ta’ you. Master Jacob gonna marry some skinny white girl one a these days. No matter how many smiles he give you and you give back, it ain’t gonna change that. My Nika strong inside, but Nika weak when it come to him. Your eyes tell me you afraid, my sister. Otherwise, why tell me about this white girl?” “I know how much you like gossip, Josey.” “You a sugar tease, Nika. You sugar tease those black boys that eyeball you. You sugar tease me to look the other way, but I ain’t doing it on this. Master Jeremiah fire a white overseer a few year back. Man got too close to couple of fat nigger women. Master Jeremiah don’t cotton no mixin’ in the quarters. You quit that sugar teasin’ Master Jacob ‘fore he bake a cake with you.” “You no account dreamer! You making lies now.” “Nika, I am not lying. What is it you Africans say? Bad nyama? Bad spirit? I truly like Master Jacob, but I can’t trust him. Mammy Muso and Solomon don’t like each other, but they agree on that. What you do can change things around here. And I don’t mean in a good way. Count our blessings and our friends. I love Jesus, but he’s not in charge here. Master Jeremiah is. Nothin’ change Fiery Hill except bad nyama.” Josey’s blunt statement roiled Nika, further aggravated by the creaking kitchen door. Jacob brought his plate and bowl into the kitchen and walked toward the counter where Josey and Nika stood with stony faces. Josey turned to the pie on the counter; and Nika turned away from Jacob, picking up a towel and racking crumbs off the counter. Josey quickly interjected. “Master Jacob, I know you want another slice a chess pie, so let me gets it for you. Sit back down with Master Jeremiah. I’ll bring it in right away.” “Josey, I don’t want pie. Check on Mother and Father. Assuming the flies will cooperate, I think an evening on the porch reading and conversing will suit them fine. Warm sassafras tea with honey. And get the fiddler. Tell him happy. Happy music. Something to sooth. I’ll be out shortly with the ledgers. Father likes counting his money before he goes to bed.” “Yes, sir, Master Jacob. Come on, Nika.” “Nika needs to attend to another task, Josey.” “Oh, but Master Jacob, Nika make the best sassafras tea. Muso and I do alright, but Nika has a special stash a roots and the scrapins’ are the best for…” 118

Shadow of The Conjurer “Go on,” interrupted Jacob, without moving his eyes from Nika’s back, casually flipping his wrist toward the door in a firm direction. Josey opened her mouth again but thought better. Hoping for a quick glance at Nika so she could sign silence, Josey hesitated, her eyes trailing backwards as long as she could. Jacob waited until the door shut. “Shadow, we should talk.” “About what, Jacob?” “Don’t play with me. I deserve better than that. You’re my…my friend. I would not want you to misinterpret my future as father sees it.” “Master Jacob, your future is not my concern. Property does not speak. Property obeys.” Jacob’s face brightened a deep red. “You defame our friendship, Shadow. I have always been honest with you. I cannot help the position into which I was born, any more than can you.” “You presume too much. You cannot begin to understand what it is like to have your family killed and your soul taken by force to a foreign and evil land.” “Evil? I am not...not that way. Our family is good. We do good things in Alabama.” “You are good, Jacob. You are my friend. And Fiery Hill is good compared to what it could be elsewhere. You don’t understand. You never will. You can’t.” “You told me black men took you. Sold you. Why are white men any worse?” “You are clouded by perspective. I was talking of your family’s way of life, your culture, not you. You are good, and I am unguarded around you. Evil is neither black or white. Evil is simply evil. As good is simply good.” Nika took a step closer to invade Jacob’s space, a space she desired for her own but could no more than brush. “I’m sorry. I spoke with insolence to someone who goes beyond his understood boundaries, maybe unsafely, to call me a friend.” “Being your friend is most important to me. And you seem to forget that Muso and father are friends.” “Muso is allowed to speak frankly because Master Jeremiah is indebted. She is his favorite. As long as she does not bite, he will allow her barking. But as for tonight, I know that when you marry, possibly Pamela, you would not desire it harm our friendship.” Jacob almost denied the potential match, but he knew she would see it a lie. “I hope our friendship never fails, my Shadow. With most people who I see as friend being a different color, I do bleed at our…your sadness.” 119

CHAPTER FIFTEEN “Let’s not talk of unbidden wounds.” Nika surprised Jacob by touching his lips with her fingers, holding the warm tip momentarily in the cusp of his tongue as his face flushed with heat and satisfaction. “Nika, you heard part of father’s conversation?” “Yes…I did,” she replied hesitantly. “He talked to the planter, Benjamin Spangler, about your heritage from Africa. I assume Mr. Spangler is curious, especially of Muso. Father desires that you and Muso accompany us to Somerville.” She abruptly soured and turned away. “I need to help Josey. Will you excuse me, Master Jacob?” The McNallys-Present Day Alabama

T

hat’s it? The message was so buoyant, so promising. I had hoped we get a whisper in a direction of explanation,” said Melissa.

“No answers. Only the meanderings of a boy from 1830s Alabama,” responded

Jared. “So much is missing without her perspective.” “Nika’s or Muso’s?” “Any validation point but Jacob’s. So we accept his perspective. Better than nothing. But the lack of input from Nika or Muso is…disheartening. Let me have the diary, Jared.” Jared handed the brittle book to Melissa. “Be careful. It’s so dry the pages will crumble if you’re not careful.” “We had all of this outpouring of a boy, then a young man. I can’t believe Jacob would stop before telling us what happened at Magnolia Grove.” “Us? A little presuming, isn’t it?” “Of course I did not mean us, but Jacob was purposeful for six years. He kept up the writing while he was doing his apprenticeship. Why would he quit on the eve of leaving for an event as large as the match making of the Thompsons and Spanglers? It doesn’t make sense.” “It does. That event changed everything.” 120

Shadow of The Conjurer Melissa carefully flipped through the remaining pages of the journal. “All empty. I don’t understand.” Melissa examined the last entry. “Jared, it’s crumbled and hard to notice, but there are some pages missing. Not many but a few.” “The few missing couldn’t have held much.” “If Jacob wrote in another book, why hide this one?” Melissa sighed. “All and all, this is anticlimactic.” “We need some sleep. We’ll figure it out.” “I just wanted an explanation.” “Maybe we missed something. Maybe Emma can help. But give it a rest. Let’s go to bed.”

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN Magnolia Grove – June 15, 1837 (The Missing Record of Jacob Thompson)

The Thompsons were ensconced in a plush carriage driven by Solomon. Bill, their handler and blacksmith, drove a wagon with the baggage. Muso and Nika sat with him. It was cool for June. A storm passed through the area during the day which moderated temperatures, making the day’s travel to Somerville cozy. The rain settled into the ground. Mud holes were rare, and moisture controlled the dust. The Thompsons arrived at the Spangler’s home by mid-day. The house butler, Cicero, a lanky but elegantly dressed man of very dark complexion, walked to the coach, pulled down the coach steps, and opened the carriage door leading to the house. He extended his hand to Sarah. Jeremiah and the family followed. By the time Sarah reached the porch of Magnolia Grove, Benjamin Spangler emerged, smiling with the possibilities in a Thompson-Spangler union. He moved to greet Sarah, kissing her hand before entering the house. They moved to the parlor where Abigail, Benjamin’s wife, and their daughter, Pamela, sat on the sofa. Behind them stood a handsome man with dark hair who smoked a large cigar. Benjamin motioned the Thompsons to comfortable chairs as Abigail rose to greet Sarah and warmly took Sarah’s hand within her own. Jacob stood behind his mother. Benjamin sat in the chair next to Jeremiah. “We hope your trip was not trying,” said Benjamin. “Certainly, the weather has cooperated and, we hope, brightens your stay.” “You and your home brighten it more,” responded Jeremiah. “May I introduce my eldest, Jacob.” “And my eldest, Peter.” Benjamin motioned to the smoker behind the sofa. 122

Shadow of The Conjurer Peter walked purposefully toward Jacob, the Spangler son showing his physical maturity. Peter was built of hard edges, clearly a lion at his peak, including a mane of a moustache. Cockiness exuded from him, not only in his physicality, but also in a swaggering demeanor. He reached for Jacob’s hand, shaking it strongly, pulling a cigar from his pocket for Jacob who politely refused. “So this is my future brother-in-law,” observed Peter. Abigail’s eyes grew larger. Pamela, surprised by the directness, reddened and almost opened her mouth for a retort, but her mother’s hand on her knee stopped her. “My son was never known for his reserve. His boldness has worsened recently, but I note his ill manners and apologize for him,” said Benjamin. “Peter has not been himself these past two months. He recovers from a contusion to the brain.” “My father does not like to acknowledge I fell from my horse drunk. At night I would point out,” smirked Peter. “I didn’t see the rock that found itself smashed against my head.” “Peter, please remember our discussion as well as decorum.” “My apologies, father, as well as to our future family, and of course to my beautiful sister who will swear like a soldier when...” Benjamin interrupted. “Jacob, I am happy that you accepted our invitation. Your father has many good things to say of you. I understand you are the plantation overseer at eighteen.” “An enjoyable burden facilitated by my father’s encouragement and support,” replied Jacob. “I hope for the same for Peter after he completes his studies.” Benjamin exchanged an unfriendly glance with his son who took another heavy drag on his cigar and fidgeted slightly. “May I introduce you to my daughter, Pamela?” “Of course, Mr. Spangler,” responded Jacob who took the few steps to Pamela’s side and bowed. “Very happy to meet you, Miss Spangler. I am looking forward to celebrating your sixteenth birthday.” “And might I add, celebrating your special day as well, Mr. Thompson. I believe you had a birthday this past month,” replied Pamela. At that moment Nika walked to the open foyer holding a canvas bag in each hand. She hesitated, immediately mesmerized by Jacob holding the hand of the beautiful Pamela. “True,” said Jacob meeting Nika’s eyes with reassurance. 123

CHAPTER SIXTEEN “I have so few male friends. Beginning a friendship with such a fine young man from an outstanding family is a gift of its own.” Peter’s eyes registered Nika. They widened, clearly in interest. Nika broke the introductions. “Master Jeremiah, where do you want your luggage?” “I have this, Master Jeremiah,” said Muso as she appeared next to Nika. “Enjoy your visit.” Muso shook her head at Nika in the direction of the hall. Nika hesitated but begrudgingly walked after Muso. Peter watched the exit of Nika. With his eyes toward the foyer, he asked, “May I get you a drink, Mr. Thompson?” “Thank you, young Spangler, but we do not imbibe the hard liquors. If you have something lighter and cool for my family, we would accept graciously,” responded Jeremiah. “Beer or tea?” asked Peter disparagingly as he turned his attention back to the Thompsons. Jeremiah stared as Abigail and Pamela gritted their teeth. “Sassafras, if you have it,” he replied. “Sassafras? I have no idea, but I’m sure father keeps some for mother. Jacob, after you and my family have finished introductions, let me escort you around Magnolia Grove. Our little farm has a few surprises.” Benjamin interjected. “Son, bring me a finger of that Kentucky Old Bourbon Whiskey we got from Whitesburg Landing yesterday. And just a touch for you too.” Peter clicked his heels in an almost military salute and then rapidly departed. “Your son has quite the appetite for drama,” drawled Jeremiah, but obviously to make a point. “We hope our old Peter returns soon. The blow to his head was quite vicious, certainly affected his presentation. He had convulsive spells at first. I am sure he would not have been so rude a year ago. My, my. But that servant of yours, the second one, is quite striking. Those scars. She must be the African we talked about in Huntsville. Is she your head servant?” “Yes. I am quite proud of that acquisition. Muso is a very intelligent for a Negro. Saved my youngest daughter’s life with her medicine. She has earned her position.” “Muso. Such a strange name, but I expect strangeness from that heathen continent.” “God has blessed us with Muso. She has accepted our culture and adapted quite well. I believe she has accepted Christ into her life as well.” 124

Shadow of The Conjurer “Is she a conjurer?” “Conjurer? What is that?” “I’ve heard the term used in our quarters. A medicine man or woman is often called a conjurer. They have a mystery around them. I wonder sometimes…here…in Magnolia Grove,” Benjamin paused. He continued trance-like. “The other slaves fear them, but covet their reported magic. Superstitious lot.” “Whether she is a conjurer, I cannot say. But I can say this, my Esther would have died without her. Our Doctor Johnson in Huntsville gave her up for dead. Forest medicine is not often recognized by the formal followers of Hippocrates. Doctor Johnson respects her, and so do I.” “Maybe she can talk to my household servants about her forest remedies.” “Of course. But for now, please introduce us to your beautiful home. Tomorrow, Jacob and I would accompany you around the grounds. He may have some ideas.” “Wonderful. Abigail shall escort your tour. Shall I have dinner ready in two hours?” “That should be adequate,” said Jeremiah.

P

eter poured a tumbler full of the whiskey from the cabinet near the stairs. He dashed a small amount into a second tumbler and handed it to a servant with instructions to take it to his father along with the sassafras tea for Sarah and Jeremiah. He took a gulp of the fiery liquid, closing his eyes while he swished, then swallowed. Peter looked up the staircase as Muso walked down. Spangler intercepted her. “Mammy, does your friend know her way?” “Master, we have no problems.” “No problems, huh. Who are you, Mammy?” “I am Muso. I manage the household and children as governess. May I be excused, Master Peter?” “You know me?” “My master prepared us for the trip.” “Feisty, aren’t we. We are no lords or ladies. We are simple folk and call our dependable nursemaids ‘Mammy’. You dependable?” “Yes, Master Peter, I am very dependable,” said Muso with a stiff and reproachful reply. “Muso. Those scars say you come from Africa. Am I right, Mammy Muso?” “I have work for my master. I must go.” 125

CHAPTER SIXTEEN “And where would that be, Mammy Muso?” “I must ensure the children are bathed before dinner.” “Well, well, mustn’t stop that. You know Jacob will be my brother,” noted Peter emphatically, making a point, not asking a question. “I heard. I really must go, Master Peter.” “And the young slave’s name, Mammy Muso?” Muso stared at Spangler, not wanting to answer, knowing this man was a rake, his persistence revealing his aim. “Her name is Nika. She is family.” “Oh, really? You look too young to be her mother, but maybe the scars hide your age.” “I did not say she was my daughter. I take care of her.” “She from Africa too?” “We were captured against our will.” “Didn’t suppose you volunteered. Are you happy that you are here instead of there? I mean, your captors are there.” “And our procurers are here. Do you wish anything else?” “No. No. I guess you have chores. So do I.” Muso left slowly, the concern exposed in the cautious turn of her face. Peter raised the tumbler to her and smiled. As the door to the exterior of the house closed, Peter bounded up the stairs, slowing at the top. The stairs opened to the back of the second floor with a three-foot width of hallway surrounding the bedrooms. Peter strode toward the larger of the left set of guest rooms, going immediately to the corner and entering without knocking. The luggage was opened on the bed. Nika was busy placing articles in drawers. Peter laid his cigar on the edge of the dresser, arresting her attention. “Master, may I help you?” “This Muso…she your aunt?” “She is not.” “Oh, she said you were family, but she was not your mother. So what does family mean to an African?” “Well, I suppose she means that she looks out for me.” “So you need looking out for, huh?” “Master, I do not need your assistance. I must finish my work in private.” 126

Shadow of The Conjurer “Peter. Master Peter to you. Muso said you didn’t need my help. But you did not answer my question.” “Because I am under the direction of Master Jeremiah. And Master Jeremiah appreciates house slaves who stray from trouble.” “Does it run in African blood to be so evasive to their white superiors?” Nika narrowed her eyes. “As I said, Master Jeremiah cautions his house…niggers to be careful of what they say to their white superiors. Excuse this uppity nigger for saying; but you seem a little bold and, if I may say so, unseemly. After all, a rich white man, as yourself, cannot be intending to help…the help.” Peter smiled and downed the last of the whiskey, laying the tumbler on the dresser. “Well, Nika from Africa, I may have been a little dishonest. You are a very exotic. New Orleans exotic to say the least. You ever been to New Orleans?” “Master Peter, as I said very clearly…” “I know, I know, Master Jeremiah said stay out of trouble and especially stay away from men who offer assistance. You sixteen, pretty Nika?” “Master Peter, my Mammy Muso will be back in a moment, and if I am not finished…” “I know already. Why don’t you shut that mouth and answer my goddamn question?” Nika smiled at the sudden rise in his tone, enjoying the fact that he had shown his anger, that for the moment he was not in control. “I am seventeen, Master Peter.” Spangler straightened his shirt. In control again. “Seventeen and ripe. You the old man’s personal…nurse maid?” Nika soured and did not reply. “You have nothing to be alarmed about. Your master is our guest. Your master’s son will be my brother.” Nika’s heart stopped. Peter noticed her hesitation; and he took a step closer, causing Nika’s eyes to narrow in anger. “Interesting. You were fit to be tied. Your master’s son will be my brother. Yes.” He looked for further reaction. She tried to stay calm, to be neutral, but her emotions betrayed her, ever so slightly. “I’m right. Jacob gets a little of you.” “Muso!” blared a frantic Nika. 127

CHAPTER SIXTEEN “Shut up! As you said, you’re just an uppity nigger girl. A black bitch. So don’t make a scene.” “Master Peter, be your father’s son and back away from this apologetic servant. You don’t want a scene either.” “You’re smart too. I can make your visit bearable or difficult. I don’t mind, and sometimes I like difficult. Now tell me about you and Jacob.” “There is nothing to tell.” “You are a liar. You are transparent. If you want to hate me more than you hate my sister, then keep it up. I’ll give you something to hate me for.” Peter gripped her shoulders. Nika tried to shake his grip; but he would not release her, in fact tightened his grip. “What’s it going to be? I need what that butt pluggin’ father kisser gets…probably gets every day.” His voice hoarsened as his nose touched her cheek and drew her smell in deep gulps of air. “Release me,” she tersely replied through tight lips. They examined each other, waiting for submission. The eyes of Peter Spangler were sparkling with anticipation, but his scintillating mood was also serpentine, bringing clarity to his malice. Nika’s eyes were cold, her capability of violence certain. Peter hesitated only because he was pleasantly surprised at what he saw behind the eyes. “Or what? You like what you see, you tasty tart; and you probably like your white boys dripping with your scent, needing you.” With his free hand Peter indifferently reached inside her cotton shirt. She propelled him away, causing him to stumble backwards. Peter’s hands caught his fall as his boot flew skyward and his head crashed to the wooden floor. In a flash she reached to the dresser and plucked a sharp pencil-like nail file. Nika vaulted on top of the prone man, the pointed end ready. Her hand shivered from the effort to keep it from a violent thrust into his neck. “I guarantee you I can be difficult or more. As you acknowledge, I’m a black bitch.” “You have me at odds,” he said casually and solicitously. “May I get up without that damned file gouged in my neck?” “I use this next time. Jacob should know what kind of brother he is getting.” “So he can run back to you? Don’t believe in this fantasy of Nika the house mistress. You’re not a white bitch. It makes a difference.” “I am a nigger and a slave, so what I got to lose with inserting this file all the way through your scrawny neck bone?” “And I thought to kill you. That would be a waste. Let’s call it a draw. I cap my rapier wit, and you cap that file.” 128

Shadow of The Conjurer “I don’t talk to Jacob or your father as long as you stay away from me. You understand, you white bastard pig?” “I give up,” Peter whispered, tilting his head toward the drawn file. “Your rapier wit is better than mine. Of course I understand. I want this plantation. But Jacob will still be my brother.” Nika dwelled on the thought. “I’ll rise slowly. I will use this if I have to.” “I have no doubt.” Nika backed off but continued to point the file at her tormentor. Peter rose and brushed off his clothes. “Darlin’, whether you believe me or not doesn’t matter. Just a statement of fact. Jacob is not only a fantasy, but he’s boring.” “Get out of here. Now!” “Your problem is a simple one. You think what you want is what you need. You are wrong. Lust colored by emotion is sentimental and weak. The sooner you realize your worth without such weakness, the quicker you reach your true potential. And darlin’, you have great potential to savor this life, darky or not.” “Get out!” Peter picked up his cigar, hanging off the edge of the dresser. He drew on the cigar and expelled a large draft. “You are a meal to be savored, not gulped. Later.” Peter exited, creating a whirl of air that blew hotly into Nika’s face. Nika’s tension drained from her body, and it left her trembling. She grabbed for the corner of the bed and sat on its edge. The file clanged onto the hard wood floor. Nika lay on the bed, unconcerned with using the house accommodations. She expelled short rough gasps; and soon, the trembling stopped.

M

uso entered the room to find everything put away and Nika sitting at the small desk in the corner, her chair turned toward the door.

“Something happened. Let’s talk privately,” Nika said. “We can take our things to the quarters. No one will interrupt us.” As they walked from the mansion, Nika talked softly but plainly of Peter Spangler. Within a few minutes, Muso pointed to a large shady oak. They sat beside its huge trunk in front of the trail so they could see walkers from either direction. “Keep your distance from him,” said Muso. “I will suggest that I do not need you, that I can cover everything you are expected to do.” 129

CHAPTER SIXTEEN “Jeremiah wanted me to help. Why would he agree?” “Because Benjamin Spangler desires to be the congenial host. He has instructed his servants to assist. I am to attend to the children and not worry about assisting elsewhere.” “This man will be persistent. And I am worried about Jacob.” “I have put off talking about Jacob. I convinced myself this would not be a problem.” “Peter cares nothing about Jacob.” “No, Nika. I am not talking about Peter and Jacob. I am talking about Nika and Jacob, and you are being purposefully evasive.” Nika looked off, avoiding Muso’s gaze. “I don’t know why everyone accuses me of something I am not guilty of. I am Jacob’s friend. I do not apologize for that. We are nothing more, despite what you imply, what Josey says all the time.” Muso placed a hand on Nika’s shoulder. “We see what you and Jacob do not acknowledge, that you both long for something you cannot have.” Nika was stony in posture. Muso was patient, simply caressing Nika’s back for the moment, Muso’s own silence demanding a response that seemed stuck in Nika’s young heart. “Tell me, young one. What fulfillment would there be in an attachment that could never be formalized, could never result in children unless you were willing to let them live as slaves?” Nika shuddered, releasing her truth to the only person that could ever understand its impact. “Oh, Muso, you smash my dreams with your soft caresses, your reality cloaked in honey. Do you not understand that fantasy has its healing qualities?” Muso closed her arms around the girl’s shoulders. “The opportunity of life should not be squandered by focusing on its hard lines. That approach wastes the soft lines, their many paths pleasant and hopeful.” “Then, my trusting guardian, why give us dreams at all, just so they are turned upside down?” Nika softened, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I know not Mangala’s reason for placing us in this unkind world, but I believe in His kindness. Be Jacob’s friend. Don’t set yourself up for heartbreak and a well of the deepest disappointment. Jeremiah’s world at Fiery Hill has no place for us at his table except as pets. Enjoy being a pet, but remember you are a pet.” “I can be more. Between us we can determine some kind of future together, even if that is not acknowledged in his world.” 130

Shadow of The Conjurer Muso sighed in frustration. “Jeremiah seems kind, seems to appreciate the part we play in God’s world. But Jeremiah will never accept us as equals. It is impossible for us to return to Africa. We must make the best.” “And who is to say that I will not help Mangala bring about a change? You who are so swift to toss about His name should not be so quick to intervene in His unfathomable plans!” Muso’s face hardened. “This is why you are still a child, arrogant and anchored to youth by your quick wit and strong will. You turn my words around to suit your purpose. You think not of the consequences to the rest of us. Let me say it forcefully. A relationship with Jacob places the stress of an earthquake on Jeremiah’s perception of his world. It brings uncertainty that challenges the peace we have here.” “So be it!” “And exactly when does Jacob get to buy into your daydream? Does he support this plan?” “Not yet…” “Of course not!” “You did not let me finish. I have a way with boys…and men.” “I have never suggested otherwise.” “I can read Jacob. I know he will find a place for us. I need to be blunt with my intentions. I have been too circumspect.” “Admitting his lust for you does not translate into a life with him. Have you had sex with him?” “No, but it would not be a bad thing.” “You are infuriating! You have not heard a thing I said. You block it out. I am not saying that sex is not natural. I said sex with Jacob would never be accepted by Jeremiah.” “We are not there yet.” “Go romp in the bed with a field hand to satisfy your itch if you like. It does not hurt our situation except get you pregnant. But do not extend the same to Jacob. Do you understand?” “I am not a slave mill, Muso. I will never be that!” “For Mangala’s sake, I did not suggest you were though it would certainly pour cold water on Jacob’s fire if you did.” “Jacob’s fire?” 131

CHAPTER SIXTEEN “Don’t play innocent, child. I am not stupid! How did we get to this point? I assume you will obey me and stay away from Peter Spangler. I want you to stay away from Jacob as well. For all our sakes.” “I brought the problem of Peter Spangler to you. You turned it into a Jacob Thompson problem, not me.” “Yes, I did. And I have not dropped it. But I agree that we get through the immediate situation. We will talk about Jacob Thompson when we get back to Fiery Hill. You can count on that.”

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Though the morning walk was interesting, Jacob was alarmed at the interest in his marriage into the Spangler family. Jeremiah and Benjamin brought up Pamela’s name often and favorably. Jacob was tired of the posturing, the masks of formality required in this obvious sizing by patriarchs and matriarchs of a potential son-in-law and daughter-in-law, a determination of their worthiness to become scions. At the end of the morning Jacob escaped the next round of forced encounters by volunteering to find Peter. Of course Jeremiah and Jacob knew that Peter was hung over, but Jeremiah did not wish for Benjamin to be further embarrassed. He agreed to let Jacob forgo lunch with Pamela to avoid unnecessary explanations. Jacob went to the kitchen where the household servants prepared the next day’s birthday festivities. They hardly looked up from their focus on the preparations for one hundred people, all representing important families. However, his presence was not completely ignored as the Spangler’s butler, Cicero, took pity upon Jacob. “Master Jacob, you appear lost. May I help you?” “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bother. It’s not important anyway. I’ll…” “You’re looking for Peter.” “How did you know?” “I live to know. I know, for instance, that Peter was expected to be with you this morning, but I also know that Master Benjamin did not assume those expectations would be met. It is a familiar story. I have cleaned Peter before. Would you like me to bring him to you and Master Benjamin?” “No, I should do that. I said I would.” Cicero squinted and paused. “Very well. Check the quarters, the last cabin from the north end, on the left, facing the direction of the road you arrived on.” 133

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN “The quarters? Is he working…” “Be careful.”

J

acob saw the austere quarters from afar in his morning walk. As he closed the distance, Jacob noted their resemblance to those at Fiery Hill, the same dusty narrow road between the rows of small one room cabins, chimneys drifting small plumes of smoke here and there. The sound of a baby was the first notice of humanity. A small black child with no clothes emerged from an open door, then a second and third who watched him closely. The first child sucked his thumb until a young woman in rags, her skirt frayed, grabbed the child, pulling him and the others back inside. Jacob continued, shooing single chickens and a stray dog from his side. Jacob spied his objective on the left, dark and restless, the porch rail falling apart. The three rickety steps were barely capable of holding his weight, but he ascended carefully so as to not fall through to the spider-filled recesses. He was struck by this decrepit hovel that seemed less cared for than the others. Slave quarters could have a striking divergence in utility and standards. This cabin was not unusual, but the lack of upkeep was. It was as if it was a pariah, left alone by others whose cabins were homes while this was only a place to spend in sleep while awaiting death. In this case the residence was unburnished, unloved, unwanted. Jacob’s indoctrination and his naiveté suggested a knock before entering. Maybe it was instinct that held his hand, wavering over the knotty and wind worn wood. The prudence was momentary, however, as he remembered his duty. Responsibility was something he listened to. He pushed on the creaky door, light licking at the dark recesses like fire does to wood. “Anyone here?” No answer. Jacob pushed further, bringing a dose of brilliance to most of the cabin. He saw a rough hewn table to his right with the remains of a meal and an empty bottle of whiskey, a few shelves with bowls, dishes, and personal items, and from the rafters a few dark and braided ropes of tobacco. A quick glance to the left revealed a fireplace with dying embers. He could not see behind the door. Jacob sighed with relief because now he could leave this stain in the earth, this hovel-shaped tick still attached to its blood teat of clay. He pulled on the door, giving in to the room’s desire for darkness. Then he heard a rustle. Corn shucks moving within what had to be a mattress, likely behind the door. With a draw of courage he opened the door again, his feet stamping into the dust. The tobacco ropes appeared as long and bloodstained teeth hanging from a mouth drawn of rafters. 134

Shadow of The Conjurer Jacob’s left-handed gaze fell behind the door. The plantation prince lay revealed, hands awry, his clothes on the bedpost and dirt floor. He was atop a worn quilt that lay astray deerskins covering the mattress. Peter Spangler scratched his hairy and taunt chest, then moved down to the respectable package of his loins. Jacob was startled by his first unhurried glimpse at a white male’s spent cock. The look was cursory. His gaze instead was drawn to the back of a naked female, a wild and wire-haired slave who cleaved slices of desire. She was cloaked in front with another deerskin. To Jacob’s surprise her smooth and jutting behind seemed to covet him to its need, even as his young desire sprang to meet hers. His eyes refocused. She turned to him, her eyes unusually green. Her sight investigated his every pore, making him feel uncomfortable and used. “You must be Jacob,” she said with familiarity, not the normal distance of a slave to a white man, especially a rich white man’s son. “Yes,” he replied, drawn again to her searching eyes. “We should get to know each other. You are to be Peter’s…family…are you not?” “I don’t know. Eventually. Maybe. And who are you?” he asked with small authority, a little defiance. “I am Juba.” “And she and I are perfect friends as you can see, Jacob,” responded Peter, his left arm encircling his folded knees from the head of the bed. He placed the lit cigar in his mouth and inhaled powerfully, flaming orange as he drew, the familiar cocky smirk cornicing his lips. Jacob was perplexed at how far removed this picture was from a moment ago when he first saw the sleepy couple, both still naked but unaware. “I came to find you.” “You found me, brother.” “Do not call me that. I am not ready to be called brother.” Juba and Peter chuckled simultaneously in amusement. She took the cigar from Peter and pulled a long drag on the tobacco. She walked to the opposite side to sit next to Peter, seemingly a show for her body, a further exacerbation of desire for Jacob as she brushed him in passing with her hands and her musty and sexual scent. Her pert bosom glistened with sweat. “Well, Jacob, more reason to get to know me,” said Peter. “Don’t you want to know why I’m here? Why I missed the show this morning?” Jacob was embarrassed, turning a deep red in his reply. “No need to explain. I am not your father. I’ll leave you with your friend.” 135

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN “Yes, Juba and I are good friends. Are you and Nika good friends?” “How do you know about Nika?” “Oh, did I forget to mention we met? She said you were friends. Would she lie about that?” “She would not. But I doubt that she is a friend like Juba.” “Doubt? How can you doubt that? Juba, what do you make of that answer?” They enjoyed the dangling mortification of Jacob. “Jacob, come here,” commanded Juba, toying with disingenuous intent. Jacob shook his head. “Lunch waits. I have to meet with Pamela.” “Jacob, I won’t bite,” teased Juba languidly. “Do you find me attractive?” “Come now, Jacob. It’s as plain as you will get. If you haven’t dipped your wick in Nika, we understand. But you’re eighteen, and you’re not married to Pamela. She’s the type to have babies, then stop pleasing you. You need to examine your long-term options. Juba and I just celebrated the summer solstice in style. Right, sugar?” Juba turned to her lover and pulled his head to her own, nipping and tugging at his lips, then his tongue as he reached to caress her bare breast. Jacob was aroused and did not leave when the chance occurred. The couple parted, both sets of eyes watching the mouse weave to their serpentine trance. “At least sit on the edge of the bed, Jacob,” said Juba. “I have to go.” But he waited for an answer. “You do, Jacob. You do. Let’s talk,” she replied. Jacob hesitated, torn between what his body and mind told him. “I’m a little awkward about this. But don’t get me wrong. I am not a prude. I will explore life’s opportunities myself, but at my own pace and in my own way. You are attractive…very, but to be honest you scare me. Peter, what do you want me to tell your father?” “Tell him I’m checkin’ the fertility of Magnolia Grove’s soil. Tell him anything you want, but maybe the easiest is to say you didn’t find me.” “Okay. Can you tell me whether you will be back for supper?” “Jacob, I’ll be back for supper if you promise to spend the evening with me,” suggested Peter. “I can’t do that.” “What if I said the quarters were having a party tonight? What if I told you Nika would be there?” “Nika?” 136

Shadow of The Conjurer “Yes, you know, your friend.” “I shouldn’t go to a slave celebration.” “I’ll rescue you from your family. I know you want to go.” A pause. A thought. A choice. “Are you sure she is going?” “I suppose she’ll dine with your father and mother instead?” Jacob did not respond. Peter continued. “Nah, I don’t know a darkie that don’t love dancin’.” He turned to Juba. “Do you, sugar?” Juba put a sultry arm around Peter while staring at Jacob. “We darkies just love to dance,” she said with a strange drawn out parody of slavishness. “In the barn…in the woods…in the bed. You know, we can’t help it. Can we, Mas-ter Peter?” Peter’s mouth seemed to unhinge in his attempt to envelope Juba, their skin almost flowing together into one. Jacob closed his eyes, shook his head, and opened them again. “I’ll see you at supper, Jacob. Then you and I will surprise Nika.” “I’ll be there too, Jacob,” said Juba. “You owe me a dance.” “I can’t dance, Juba.” “I’ll teach you. You’ll wonder why you never did it before.” Jacob nodded uncomfortably and left, hearing their laughter over the creaking door, their laughter echoing in his skull, finally tinkling away. In his mind he saw Juba’s naked body. The pressure in his head escaped through his nostrils in hoarse sighs; but the heaviness remained, falling through his abdomen and settling in his loins. He could not help himself. As he thought of her, Juba’s face twisted in laughter and morphed into the mocking face of Nika. Foregoing the steps in his haste, Jacob jumped onto the ground, and the vision fled. He cursed himself for his clumsiness and for the stupidity in holding onto the same clumsiness that kept Nika from him. Why could he not simply give in to impulse? Why did he always listen to that voice inside that sounded so much like his father? He raced down the dusty lane of the quarters, back to the safety of his responsibility, restoration of his control accomplished only when he could see the mansion of Magnolia Grove.

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he Spanglers held a dinner with a handful of important men and their wives who arrived that afternoon. It was a smaller consortium than that planned for Pamela on the next day. It was held on the plantation’s cobblestone lane 137

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN and beside the large magnolia trees for which the plantation was named. Dinner was served with the lingering warmth of the Alabama summer, a birthday an excuse for a more formal gathering of etiquette served with subdued spectacle, fine ware and clothing, wealth showcased in an acceptable manner. Peter sat between Pamela and Jacob, a façade for the family’s distance from what everyone else knew was a match-making affair. Peter was on his best behavior, vulgarities only leaving his lips in private to Jacob, who smiled uncomfortably with each remark. Peter traded his tongue for his stomach. While his tongue was held in familypleasing tact, another use of said organ was not, namely a continual stream of open and close, washed down with wine and the hard stuff, every course taken with gusto and celebration. He offered the same to Jacob who politely refused. Peter scraped the extra onto his own plate, his sister turning up her nose at his gluttony. Jacob marveled. He could only assume that the previous day’s exercise with Juba did wonders for Peter’s appetite. Jacob knew from his short association with Peter that he was anything but guileless. Jacob’s quandary was his intrigue with attending an event in Nika’s own element but knowing it was Peter’s suggestion. The more Jacob thought about attending the dance with Peter, the more he talked himself into declining. But the more he thought about attending the dance with Nika, the more he thought he should agree. The musing preoccupied his mind and made him appear indifferent to Pamela who from time to time would try to engage him. After thirty minutes she gave up. It was dark before the group finished and headed to the house for drinks and conversation. Jacob despised his cowardly vacillation, but waited and watched while Peter talked privately with Benjamin. Elder Spangler looked over to Jacob, then shrugged, and nodded his head in assent. Peter walked rapidly to Jacob, taking his shoulder and turning him from the house. “We need to bolt before father changes his mind.” Jacob did not disagree, another hint that the obstacles in his mind were paper thin, requiring only additional regard from the older collaborator. “I’m unsure about this attendance with you and your paramour or friend or whatever you wish to call her.” “Nonsense. And paramour is alright. Has a nice ring to it,” hurried Peter. “Fact is we like to screw whether with each other or others. You should try it sometime. Move faster. In a moment we should be out of the light and shoutin’ distance of anyone other than the long arm of the help, pushed on by my family or yours.” “What did you tell Mr. Spangler?” 138

Shadow of The Conjurer “You see, there you go again. He is my father or Benjamin or Ben.” Peter stopped for a moment to steal Jacob’s full attention, spinning around to face him. “You’re scared of your shadow. Talk about cotton or corn or mules, and you’re all mouth. Put you in a room with polite society, and you are a regular minister and Oxford graduate all in one. But Jacob, inside you’re a man. And if you give it a chance, you will act like a man. Permit yourself to do more than pretend you’re one.” He waited a moment for a reply that seemed stuck in Jacob’s brain. “You haven’t heard a word I said. Have you?” Jacob fidgeted for a moment before giving a half-hearted rejection of Peter’s conclusion. “Being different from you doesn’t mean I’m less of a man.” “Of course not. But not enjoying what time you have on this earth means you’re more than a little stupid.” “I’m not stupid either. I see nothing wrong with being responsible. And I told you earlier there was nothing wrong with enjoying life. I choose to do it at my own pace.” “At the pace you’re going, you’ll be dead before you get there.” Peter stared as if responsibility was a disease. “Look. I’ll stop if you answer one thing honestly because for all your proud formality and book learning, you have been dishonest.” “I’m listening.” “When was the last time you truly had fun? Did what you wanted and did not look back to your father for approval of what you were doing?” Jacob was struck by the argument, the ring of truth biting into his reflection. He owned a position envied by most, but Jacob’s self-image remained discolored from lack of polishing. He was only sure that it had been awhile, that selfish was a word with horrible connotation in his family, or at least with his father, that he lost sight of the fact that it was not necessarily bad. “I don’t remember.” “Well, I made my point.” “No. I mean it…it is so…routine. I don’t think about it.” “Jeremiah does not like a liar.” “Let’s just go to this party.” “Has it been that long? My God, I must help. You have no idea why you’re on this earth because you don’t know what it is like to live.” “Mathias. I had fun with Mathias,” responded Jacob in a gush. “Mathias? Goodness, man, you a bugger?” “Bugger? I’m not a bugger! Why is everything about sex with you?” 139

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Peter’s laughing faded with only a quick snicker. “I’m sorry. Go ahead. Tell me about Mathias and fun.” “We grew up together. He and I went fishing. Played together. Then father made him go to the fields.” Jacob turned away at the hard memory, of how long ago that was. “I had a nigger buddy too. I don’t talk to him anymore. But yeah, we had fun. I can see that. Surely you have a fresher memory than that, Jacob.” Why Mathias was the first whisper of his rebuttal seemed ridiculous. Mathias was his friend and that friendship filled a special need. But it was Nika. She made him truly happy, gave him purpose. For Nika he felt a kinship close to family but without familial boundaries. Jacob felt alive around Nika, would not feel recriminations. “Nika. She’s my friend. Not your kind, but it’s real. And if you joke about it, you might as well take off that coat.” “Ease off, friend. You’re a little sensitive. Got to help you with that too.” Peter took hold of Jacob’s arm as if he was trying to settle a skittish horse. “Don’t you realize you just made the argument for going tonight?” Jacob had only to accept that he cared for Nika more than he wanted to admit, cared for her, maybe a bit like Peter cared for Juba. But if so, it meant going against Jeremiah. Was he ready to be decisive, to accept lust and love along with consequences? Something in him craved that salt of impulsiveness, his life bland as a result of its omission, leaving him bereft of an earthy belonging. “I think about her, but don’t tease me about it.” “I understand. And don’t worry about Pamela or your father finding out. You won’t regret taking a stand.” “What did you tell Benjamin?” “I reminded him of his slaves’ celebration of his daughter’s birthday. He even granted them a little alcohol to entice them. They hardly ever get a chance to get drunk in a group. It’s a big thing. I said that we should make an appearance, but he did not think you should go with me.” “So how did you convince him otherwise?” “Your slaves are guests of my slaves. So we should have a joint front. I reminded him you were overseer of Fiery Hill and would be with Pamela all day tomorrow.” “I don’t see how he would approve of that.” “I’m not you. And my father is not Jeremiah. I was insistent. He knew I would wear him down until he said yes. He agreed when it made sense. He agreed when he had an excuse.” 140

Shadow of The Conjurer “Jeremiah will not understand.” “Don’t worry. My father will make it his idea.” “How do you know Nika will be at the party?” “That driver of yours, Solomon. He’ll make sure Nika attends.” “He’ll be there?” asked Jacob. “Yes. I said your slaves were our guests too. What part of that did you not understand?” “Nika doesn’t like Solomon, won’t pay any attention to him. And he will say something to my father.” Peter’s face colored darkly though the night masked his frustration. “I swear to God! Whose teat did you suck at? Look, don’t you think Jeremiah will ask why you’re not at the little dinner social inside the mansion?” “I guess so.” “You need to deal with that fact. If you’re not careful, you defeat the reason for going, namely to have a little fun. As regards Solomon, I can tell that nigger looks for attention. Our butler, Cicero, will attend as marshal for Magnolia Grove. I simply suggested Solomon attend to represent Fiery Hill. He came back a little later and said Jeremiah directed his servants attend also. Nika will be there because she has to.” Jacob twisted a bit, realizing Nika was forced to go to the party with Solomon, but he reconciled it with the realization Nika would want to be there if he was there. “Why are you doing this for me when I may become your brother-in-law?” Peter patted Jacob on the shoulder. “Been in your shoes. Don’t like being told how to act, who to see and not see. Besides, I feel sorry for you. You can’t be a husband when your only experience is diddling your own fiddle.” Jacob’s eyebrows furrowed in disdain. “I’m going to a lot of trouble so you can screw that pretty black ass.” “I told you to stop!” “Hold on, Jacob. Don’t forget your intent isn’t exactly aligned with my sister’s.” Jacob shut up, realizing that Peter may have encouraged his duplicity; but he did not have to agree. Now he was the sinner, or at least he felt that way. Jacob’s upbringing made guilt go down like bad whiskey, tasting bad but knowing he would do it again. Peter knew he won the argument. “My father wants the minimum of hiccups. He will tell Jeremiah we’ll return in a couple of hours. Everything is going to work out.” 141

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN “Whether or not it does is not the point. I accept my own culpability because I want to.” “Damn right. First time I heard you talk with any rod in your back. But you won’t return in a couple of hours.” Jacob straightened. “I will.” “You just think you will,” said Peter.

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN They approached the clearing from the south, spotting a soft glimmer of light from the general area, but the sounds of reverie punctuated the sky before that. A screech of a fiddle, a beat of drums, and a series of claps syncopated to singing announced their proximity. Jacob’s ears perked at the unusual but oddly entertaining music. Peter sped up, even passing a solitary slave who turned in surprise as Peter and Jacob passed him. The clearing was ensconced amidst a ring of tall oaks, cedars, and brambly blackberry bushes full with fruit already ripening for summer picking. A few tables were piled with a variety of food and adorned with oil lamps. At head level torches burned on several trees. The area was well illuminated, especially with the full moon, a rose moon according to European traditions or a strawberry moon by the Native Algonquins. Regardless, it was the brightest of the year, a hot moon, and, like its name, was an unusually deep red in the late evening. Jacob was enthralled with the festive sounds of music and activity. Clustered groups carried out different actions, musicians in one area, dancers in another, most everyone singing and another large contingent performing an odd but striking patting of their arms and legs to the music. In the middle of this group, seemingly conducting the crowd while dancing to her own internal tune, was Juba. She clearly enjoyed her high-powered pitch of rhythmic motions, her fellow partiers entranced with her show. Peter pulled out a cigar and clapped to the music. Initially, Jacob’s enjoyment was inhibited. He felt inadequate letting himself go like Peter. His eyes quickly found a corner of the festivities where Nika stood with Solomon and Bill. She was laughing and pointing to Juba but obviously enjoying the spectacle. “She’s here. You satisfied?” asked Peter through teeth clamped on the cigar. 143

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN “Yes.” Jacob refocused on Juba, trepidation blinded, almost ready to clap his hands with the others. “My Juba is doing the Juba.” “What?” “Her name is a nickname for her ability. The dance. The clapping and swaying. It’s what the slaves call ‘patting Juba’. It’s so expressive, so liberating, that I identify with it.” Juba worked an amazing sequence of steps in which she clapped with her hands, then hit alternately around each of her shoulders, followed by the bottoms of her feet, and ending with her knees. The sequence repeated with the music, but with little flairs that brought her arms, behind, and bosom into a whirlwind of dance, clapping, and swaying, a cobra with legs. “I get hard just watching her,” observed Peter. “Do you see why she is called the dance? Juba is the Juba.” “I can’t disagree. But why do you identify with a slave dance?” Peter turned to Jacob and laughed. “You are thick headed. Gusto! Life! Saying ‘yes’. Taking ‘no’ is not in my vocabulary. Neither is ‘guilt’ or ‘regrets’. And that is your problem, friend.” Peter turned to Juba. He began a little jig of his own as he moved rhythmically to the music and danced toward his concubine. The clearing became its own world, a cloudy mist coalescing from the humidity, rolling around the tops of the trees, blocking out the stars. It slowly descended to the audience and the forest floor. Drunken slaves blew catcalls at Peter’s entry while others simply stared, stopping to wait for the unexpected. A few even appeared frightened, hands covering their mouths. The noise increased, coming to a crescendo as the two connected in the middle, exchanging slaps around each other in greater and greater synchronization, uniting closer and closer until their pelvis’ ground together. Then as the others stood watching, laughing, amazed, and frightened, a small glow appeared, almost phosphorescent, making their coupling surreal. It was a soft red that irradiated from their middle but soon enveloped their bodies, mixing with the yellow from the torches surrounding the clearing. People seemed perplexed at the illusion, a bit of summer air and moonlight refracting off moisture in the air. However, a purple fluorescent glow also emerged, becoming more focused around Peter, then moved to Juba, who reacted almost in ecstasy, her eyes rolling in her head. All the while their dance and their ‘patting Juba’ never slowed. It just changed pattern. The musicians increased their pace with the dancers, playing their log and skin drums, a bamboo flute, their simbingo as the Mande called their gourd lute (a type of banjo), and 144

Shadow of The Conjurer the pearl of the small orchestra, a shiny fiddle. Their music not only allowed change in tempo, but also construct, sometimes the fiddle outpacing the drums, the flute pitching high to offset the fiddle going to a lower octave, and then with all increasing their volume together or lower. It was wild, getting stranger because the purple light became a ball that danced above and skimmed around the crowd, touching participants indiscriminately. At each touch the baptized target reacted in variations, some seeming to lose control, dancing a frenzied jig, others collapsing on the ground, convulsing. Regardless, random talismans emerged, such as the shaking of rabbit’s feet, that demonstrated their fear. Jacob was unafraid, simply amazed, not only at the light which was unlike anything he had ever seen, but also the dance which caused his heart to race. It engaged some part of him that was asleep. On the other hand Peter’s dance was not American or European in nature, instead a thing paradoxical to anything but the wilds of the jungle. Jacob tore away for a moment to note Nika’s reaction. Alone among the many she seethed. Her eyebrows vectored upwards, her body rigid. Solomon said something to her; and she argued with him, finally tearing her arm free, placing both hands on her hips and shouting at him. Nika panned the audience and locked on the gaze of Jacob, surprise catching in her face. She walked purposefully toward Jacob. Solomon watched her with a scrutinizing eye. “Jacob, what are you doing here?” “What do you think? The party was to celebrate Pamela’s birthday. Peter is representing his family and I ours.” Jacob retreated to the music, his head bobbing with the beat. “Isn’t this wonderful?” “You should not be here. At least not in Peter Spangler’s company.” “Nonsense. This is so…different, and I have so little fun.” Nika looked out to Peter and Juba, unsure whether to tell Jacob what she told Muso. Nika was unsure of the repercussions of such revelations, whether his culture, their friendship, or the spark of more held sway over Jacob. “It is embarrassing for Peter Spangler. He is obviously drunk. When he sobers, he will regret being so open with that woman; and knowing you watch him as the fool will only make it worse.” “Peter is unique. I wish I was like him.” “No! There is nothing wrong with you.” Jacob turned to Nika, fixing his hands on each of her upper arms. “Nor you. I am here for my Shadow.” 145

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Nika’s hand went to her mouth, the words leaving room only for doubt of accuracy, but not intention. “Do you mean that, Jacob?” “Yes. I have struggled with our relationship. Give Peter some credit for making me choose.” “Peter Spangler? How could he know anything about our relationship?” “You told him. I simply concurred. Why am I on the defensive? What went on between you?” Nika stared at Jacob, flustered. She realized Peter was up to something. “Nothing, Jacob. He offered to help me with your parents’ wardrobe. We talked a little.” “How did I come into the picture?” “He talked about your family.” “So?” “I…I guess he just saw I was interested and asked if we were friends. I said yes.” Jacob pulled her closer; and she accepted, melting, clearly uncaring of who saw that closeness. “And if I want to be more than friends?” “I would like that.” “Then let me into your life without reservation. Forget about consequences.” Nika squeezed Jacob, afraid to let go, his flesh encouraging her even as Muso’s warning held her back. Indecision stole seconds though it seemed a lifetime to Nika. “Yes, even if others would fail us,” she finally replied. “What do you make of this purple light? Something in the air? Everyone is enjoying the illusion.” Nika’s eyes moved casually about, taking in the area and the dancing light. “The light’s illusion may not be as…entertaining, as everyone seems to believe. To see it here reminds me…of my home in Africa, of Mande Faro.” “Mande Faro?” “My village. I hope the omen is not harmful. Only a conjurer would know.” “You are mysterious. And it makes you more attractive, more beautiful, than you already are.” “A commitment to you is like a moth to the flame. If I am mysterious, I am still a moth. And your world is dangerous.” “Let’s enjoy this dance, this party.” “This party for Pamela,” said Nika, searching for his heart or his lie. 146

Shadow of The Conjurer “Yes. Pamela is far away.” “She is your future.” “Who knows. I said forget about consequences, Shadow. Fate is fate, but doing nothing about us means we have no chance. That is wrong.” He gripped her closely, reaching for a kiss. However, she stopped him before his lips could touch hers, knowing that others were watching, including Solomon who was staring intently. “Be careful, Jacob. Muso warned me of the repercussions.” Jacob pulled back, his face showing dismay at the rebuke. “If they discover our truth, we may be damaged goods to them; but at least we are not cowards. So tell me now. We either give in to this together, or it ends forever.” She clutched his coat fiercely and raised a radiant face. “I would not have it end. And this dance? Enjoy it with me after I return from Solomon.” “What will you tell him?” “What Solomon believes. I will tell him you are a white boy wanting his first taste of tail, but that I pushed you away. He’ll believe that. I have pushed him away several times. So has Muso.” “Solomon? I thought he was married.” Nika laughed. “You have much to learn, Jacob. Not everyone is as innocent as you. Muso and I know how to handle Solomon.” “He will say something to father.” “So, you tell Jeremiah that he misunderstands. I will deny the gossip. I’ll say the same to Muso.” “Where is Muso?” “She will be here after your sisters are in bed.” “Then let us have our fun. Peter is. He lets go with everything. I wish I could.” “Quit wishing for what you aren’t, and be satisfied with who you are. A good man.” Nika’s hand traveled down his arm and parted wantonly from his. “A man I like, Jacob Thompson.” Jacob’s pulse quickened. He watched her return to Solomon with satisfaction. His eyes locked with Solomon who gave him a disapproving look. Jacob returned the look with his own rebuke. Solomon turned away to the festivities. Jacob’s newfound confidence flamed as he enthusiastically clapped to the music. The light returned to a soft pulse focusing on Peter and Juba, only flickering in color 147

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN between smoky hues. They parted. And as they did, other couples in the crowd did also, some looking furtively about and slinking into the shadows. The music continued and switched to another tune, not quite as upbeat as the previous. It was slower, more sensual. Peter pulled away and walked in the direction of Solomon, Nika, and Bill as Juba’s attention locked on Jacob. Juba motioned for Jacob in a come-hither motion, gyrating to the new music, already absorbing its beat and heat. A spontaneous high-pitched trill from the flute brought a momentary flutter to her eyes. The light pulsed around her face, reflecting her desire, even as Jacob defied her beacon. Juba was insistent, coming to his side, pulling at his arm. Jacob continued to resist, looking in the direction of Nika. She was engaged rather sourly with Peter Spangler who was otherwise receiving the cordial welcomes of Solomon and Bill, and even Cicero. Peter shouted over the music. “Everyone is watching, Jacob. Don’t let them down! This is as much your celebration as my sister’s.” Nika turned at the shout and saw Jacob’s predicament, but any signal was too late. Jacob gave in to Juba. He was dragged to the center of the circle where instead of a dance of couples, Juba began a solo pirouette around him. Jacob stood still, not knowing what she would do and how he should react. The audience knew Juba. Her moves were expected to be controversial, to excite. Peter shifted to whispering distance of Nika. “Juba is quite the dancer.” Nika did not acknowledge the comment. But Peter’s intention captured her, and she could not turn away from watching Juba. “You seem very familiar with her,” she said. “Of course! Juba and I? Well, can’t deny who I am. Neither can your friend.” The comment bristled and burned. Peter, uncaring of Nika’s mood, egged her on, pleasuring in its development. His next comment froze her. “I introduced Jacob to Juba yesterday.” Her back stiffened as if a corset brought her to attention. “They got along well.” “Got along well?” Nika did not turn, her body language noted by the watchful Solomon. “Yes. Can you blame him?” “You lie!” “He may be eighteen, but he is a man. He even told me that his father’s control was suffocating, that he burned for release.” “I know him better than you. He does suffocate, but he is gentle. His mother is in him too.” 148

Shadow of The Conjurer “As is mine, darlin’, as is mine. But he took what he needed. He told me it was the first time.” “You’re despicable!” “Nevertheless, it is true. So I apologize to you, Nika. I was wrong. You and Jacob are not lovers.” “You are saying that to manipulate me. You tried to rape me yesterday!” “Excuse me, but you tried to kill me. Who is the devil, little one?” “I protected myself from you.” “Oh no, my little bitch. You protected yourself from you. Your tight little cunt gushes.” Nika reared back to slap Peter but saw Solomon watching. She dropped her hand, her pulse racing with anger, caution fighting for her subjugation. “Of course I apologize again. Lately, my mouth runs with my first candid thought. Hard to argue though.” Peter pointed in the direction of the dance. Juba was grinding and touching Jacob with her waist, her arms, her behind. The crowd was restless, uncertain of the new ingredient, the planter’s son promised to the daughter of their master. A murmuring arose. Eyes flitted around in questions. Juba extorted their participation with provocative theater in the face of their fears. Cicero approached Peter and whispered in his ear. Peter shook his head and began a solo clap to Juba’s dance, encouraging the faltering musicians. Peter grabbed Nika’s hand and pulled her in the direction of Jacob and Juba, alarm exploding over Nika whose feet dug into the soil of the clearing. Solomon overcame her reticence by pushing her to his newfound friend. A warm awareness emerged in Jacob. Juba’s perfume mingled to invade recesses of his brain that he reserved for Nika. He began to enjoy the situation despite himself, smiling stupidly, touching Juba’s arm, then on her waist as she danced around him. His mind seemed drugged, a new but pleasurable feeling for the inexperienced son of Jeremiah. The audience loosened, a little laugh excising the concern of the crowd. Nika began to dance with Peter. With her participation, the bind between Fiery Hill and Magnolia Grove seemed closer. The assembly relaxed, even Cicero who clapped with the crowd. What Jacob told Nika not five minutes past posed jaggedly with his actions. Nika responded carefully, allowing her dance to be the façade to her tension, her engine purring to the fuel in the music. She danced easily, able to furtively watch Jacob and Juba while completely ignoring Peter who hopped arm in arm with Nika, tiptoe to tiptoe, sway to sway. 149

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN The reddish glow began to vibrate and expand from Juba to Jacob, the heir of Fiery Hill becoming more intuitive with his dance partner. At one point he crossed his arms in an ‘X’ around her waist so they became a single waving body. It was not a minstrel jig. It was wholly animal. Nika’s happiness, so exuberant moments ago, was washing away. To augment Nika’s anxiety a purple light appeared around the red glow, catching flame, leaping from Peter and Nika. The dance of Peter and Nika enraptured the wellwishers, lighting individual fires as the purplish globe of light began its trek around the audience. Once more it created both delight and fear. Once more talismans emerged to counter the unknown. Nika moved to Jacob and Juba, bringing Peter who smiled at her discomfort. Peter brought himself nose to cheek with the beautiful slave, savoring her smell, contemplating more as his eyes drifted over her body, his gaze lowering to her bodice. Juba purposefully turned her head from the enamored Jacob toward Nika. Time slowed. Juba and Nika were the only live participants on this surreal canvas. Juba’s smirk seemed to say that Nika only believed Jacob was hers, that reality was not Nika’s to own, that Juba’s reality dictated the dreams and nightmares of those around her. With that painful realization, Nika felt a hand press into her shoulder, forcing her to turn away from Juba. She did not want to turn, but she knew she must. Nika was the puppet, not the puppeteer. Peter controlled the strings. His face slowly focused, revealing his eyes absorbing the smoothness of her cheeks. His nose imbibed the saltiness of her sweat leaking from her lace bodice, the bodice that used to be Sarah Thompson’s. Peter only momentarily questioned the identity of the perfume lingering there, smiling to himself. He knew Jeremiah Thompson kept secret passions. Everyone kept secret passions. Then his eyes looked into Nika’s with that confidence and cockiness that was Peter Spangler, only magnified at this moment. His thoughts were her thoughts, and his thoughts said you have secret passions as well. Then the surreal light seemed to thunderously explode away from her. The music returned. The audience returned. The four of them, Peter, Juba, Jacob and Nika, were a small circle, all connected as one, not in the childish arrangement of ‘ring around the posey’, but in a shameless huddle. Juba’s head lay on Peter’s shoulder, her head turned askew in a manner that invited Jacob’s bite to her soft neck. Jacob’s shoulders slumped forward; and his face pushed into her flesh, if not a bite, then at least taking a lingering scent. Meanwhile, Juba held Jacob’s hand to her dress-covered breast while with her remaining hand she fondled Peter even as he surrounded Nika’s waist in a firm embrace. Only Nika resisted. She pulled at Jacob’s remaining arm, ignoring Peter. 150

Shadow of The Conjurer Raindrops of silvery particles fell around the group, halting the progression of lust. “What is going on!” shouted a wrathful Muso, her hands in the air. The music box dancers ran down, the music box key no longer turned by any hand. Peter stared maliciously at Muso. Juba the same. Nika and Jacob turned to each other, Jacob’s face reflecting the shame coloring his surprise. “You witch!” said Muso. All eyes stopped their fragmentary engagements. Those gorging on food drooled gravy, quit chewing ham, or spit fruit pits. Those occupied in other pleasures stopped groping. A man set down a large clay jug of beer, the golden liquid dripping from his bearded face. The musicians stopped in mid-tune, the only sound a loud belch that escaped from someone in the crowd, it eliciting not a laugh. “Who calls me witch, witch?” replied Juba, animosity pushing a cold wake from her strident body. Cicero moved to Peter’s side, accompanied by Solomon. Both men felt a responsibility to deny altercation, to keep the celebration going while ignoring its excesses. “Master Peter, these are our guests,” interjected Cicero. “Yes, they are; but I, like my friend, question who this is that stops our amusement.” Muso glared directly at Peter, not backing down for a moment, instead reaching for Nika and Jacob, taking them from the huddle. “Master Peter, your father will be ill-pleased if this goes further,” said Cicero. “Remember your sister.” Peter turned to Cicero with haughty supremacy. “Don’t talk to me of my sister. Apologize to your tribe whom you have offended.” “Master Benjamin will hear of it, if not from me to mediate its impact, but from someone else who cares nothing of you.” With the sudden quickness of a panther, Peter struck out with the backside of his hand, striking Cicero squarely on his jaw. He knocked him to the clearing ground with a hard thump. Solomon jumped backwards. Ignoring Magnolia Grove’s head servant, a sinister Peter Spangler turned to the crowd. They shrank in fright to Peter’s baleful challenge. With the stage his own Peter took small but menacing steps toward Muso. “Yes, witch. Who are you? This shield from pleasure. This protector of her master’s state of affairs. Of Jacob Thompson and his…she cat,” mocked Spangler. Jacob Thompson threw the punch while Spangler was enthralled with his command and his soliloquy, not foreseeing a challenge from the young master of Fiery Hill. The blow was not only unexpected but fierce. Jacob straddled Peter, whose body collapsed in a pile, 151

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN bringing a gasp from the crowd and a puffy flare from Juba. However, her rush to anger was subdued when she saw Muso raise her hand into a claw, beginning a whisper of unintelligible words. “My family and yours are finished!” exclaimed Jacob. Peter pushed to his elbows. “More backbone than I assumed, but for the wrong reasons. Consider your initiation with Juba my parting gift to the family that almost was.” Nika stared at Jacob, questions still unanswered, her eyes confused. “Nothing happened this morning! Juba, say something,” said Jacob. “Jacob, I am disappointed. Did I displease you in my cabin?” said Juba coyly, a few snickers erupting in the audience. “Nika, she’s lying! Nothing happened.” Solomon’s eyebrows lifted at the discussion. Jacob kicked dirt at Peter. “Get out of here, you bastard!” As he returned to his feet, Peter shot a withering stare at Muso. “You’ve not seen the last of me.” Pulling out a crushed cigar from which he expunged the broken end, he lighted the remainder. His dignity restored, Peter turned with a smile to Nika. “Nor have you, sweet.” Jacob moved protectively in front of Nika again. Peter laughed. “Got the best of me that time, friend. Watch your back. Juba, let’s go assuage our wounds.” Juba glared at Muso with vicious menace and intimidation. She turned, a few blacks from the crowd following, one in front of her walking backwards, all asking for favors that she ignored. As they walked off, the haze of the night melted away. Groups split off, all talking as they gathered plates of food to take back to the quarters. Most shook their heads, obvious concern over how this would affect them, many with hands over their mouths, and one or two sniffling. Jacob faced Muso. “I’ll talk to father. He’s seen enough of Peter to understand his temper.” Muso shook her head at Jacob’s misunderstanding of the situation. Then she walked to Solomon. Nika frowned. Her uncertainty was a canvas, and Jacob instantly knew he was the painter. She remained stony as he approached.

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Shadow of The Conjurer Jacob appealed slowly and purposefully. “I’ve done many things I regret, but words of others are a guise for lies and illusion. Juba is beautiful; but I have done nothing with her, and I have nothing to regret. I want only you.” Nika blinked, seemed to melt. She cuddled closer, surprising Muso and Solomon who emerged from the shadows. Jacob reciprocated. The two kissed, Solomon’s eyes growing larger with the knowledge. Muso turned to Solomon with a sharp rebuke. “It’s not what you think!” Solomon shrugged, but Muso knew wheels had turned away from her control. Jacob and Nika’s eyes remained fixed on each other, oblivious to anything but the first true acknowledgment of their feelings. “Solomon, can I count on you to help Master Jacob?” asked Muso. “It’s out of the bag. Jacob Thompson is in a mess of his choosing.” Muso took Nika’s arm. “Child, take Jacob and sit over there. I want to talk to Solomon.” “Why can Jacob and I not listen?” “Solomon must be convinced that you are not the source of this problem. He must support me when we talk to Master Jeremiah.” “I have never lied to Solomon! He will believe me.” “Solomon will not believe you. You tease the men. Him included. He will not even believe Jacob. Please, child. We are in trouble.” “I told you everything will be alright,” said Jacob nonchalantly, undisturbed by reality, naively living in a momentary dream. “Please do as I request, Master Jacob. I look out for your best as always.” Muso pulled Nika to Jacob’s arm and motioned to the edge of the clearing. Jacob shrugged indifferently, his eyes only for Nika. The two young lovers walked hand and hand, sitting on a log bench where Nika disclosed Peter’s assault at the mansion. Muso turned to Solomon. “I want your assurances that you will say nothing about these two.” “You said it was nothing.” “Don’t play games. They have not consummated. Can you not see this is the first time they have touched each other?” Solomon grunted. “I have been around the quarters enough to see fire.” “Do it because it is the right thing to do. Jeremiah’s plan is finished. Don’t make this worse.” 153

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN “Muso, I am not the only one who saw Jacob defend Nika from Peter.” “Sight does not necessarily reveal reasons. This can be explained by you and me. It must not be perceived that Nika broke up this plan of Jeremiah’s to match Jacob with Pamela Spangler.” “That can’t be avoided. I have my position to worry about. This thing between Jacob and Nika? Well, you know Jeremiah will more than disapprove.” “Do as I explain, and I will be your lover, Solomon. It is what you wanted.” Solomon’s composure changed, the eyes large with surprise. He could not speak. His mouth opened slightly to exhale. A large dollop of anticipation danced at the sight of hidden treasure as eagerness filled his mouth and blocked discourse. He grabbed a water gourd and swigged, spitting out the excess after his throat was wetted and his demeanor calmed. “Jeremiah will be furious. If I do this, you are mine for as long as I want, whether you succeed or not.” Muso turned to see if Jacob and Nika were listening. She simply nodded. Solomon smiled as Muso pulled him to the darkness of a narrow trail. They returned minutes later, collected the young couple, and hurried back to the plantation. Muso hoped for the best. Solomon followed in the rear. He did not care that he was not in charge.

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CHAPTER NINETEEN They walked briskly back to Magnolia Grove’s centerpiece manse, Muso in front, looking not the part of slave at all, but one in charge. The darkness hid her worry, but her strong and swift pace countered the dark. The stakes were high but could still be tilted in her favor. From afar they could hear an angry discussion in the mansion yard. Muso, alarmed, stepped up her pace and within seconds was closing with the commotion, Jacob at her heels, no longer holding Nika’s hand. Illuminated at the mansion front door were the women of the house, including Sarah Thompson, Abigail Spangler, and Pamela. The men sat at a table used during the evening dinner. Cicero was talking to Benjamin and Jeremiah. Muso turned to Nika, her arm restraining Nika. “Go to the storeroom next to the kitchen and wait.” “No! I have to know what they are saying about Jacob.” “It is not Jacob I am worried about, child. Do not argue further.” Though Nika’s stare was defiant, she knew that this was a line she could not cross. Nika pressed Jacob’s arm, kissed him on the cheek, and left. Muso gently pushed Jacob forward as her entry into the enclave. Jacob was welcome and was necessary. She was not. She had to be invited with the son in order to sort through the problem with the father, to influence its outcome. “I need to be part of this discussion, gentlemen,” said Jacob. Jeremiah’s surprise was momentary. “Yes, Jacob, you do. Cicero tells us that you and Peter had an altercation. Is this true?” “Yes, but your perception should come from me, father.” “Granted. Get to the point. I want to know what this means.” 155

CHAPTER NINETEEN Cicero turned toward Jacob but bowed his head, unwilling to challenge Jacob’s version of events. “Peter’s temper flared. He threatened Muso,” said Jacob. Benjamin was not angered. He understood the possibility. Jeremiah countered. “Cicero said the altercation started over Muso’s interruption of the slaves’ celebration.” “Master Jeremiah, I can explain,” interjected Muso. “I’m talking to my son, Muso. I’ll ask for your version later. Do not interrupt again.” Muso pulled back, but it was clear in her bright eyes that she was simply retreating for the moment. “Carry on, son.” “He called her a witch. Mr. Spangler, I do not like telling you this. It was after he struck Cicero.” Spangler’s face revealed surprise in the revelation. “Cicero, is this true?” Cicero wrung his hands but nodded, exposing embarrassment, instead of anger. Jacob continued. “Father, we have been here long enough to see that at best Peter is disrespectful of his family. His temper is as bad as his discourtesy. After striking Cicero to the ground, he went for Muso. I had no other choice.” Jeremiah wanted to believe. It was painted on his face, but doubt also gleamed in his eyes. “If what you say is true…” “It is, father!” “Let me finish, Jacob. You have a temper also.” Jacob’s teeth gnashed as he felt the air grow heavy, knowing his father expected complete obedience, even if unwarranted. To Jeremiah anything else was disrespect. “I admire your pluck,” continued Jeremiah. “But based on other things related by Cicero, this altercation between our families seems to have more at its heart.” “Peter also tried to rape Nika. Worse, it was upstairs in the house while Peter went for drinks during our introductions with Benjamin’s family.” This statement grew gasps from both Benjamin and Jeremiah. However, it was Muso whose hands went to her mouth with sudden worry. Benjamin jumped to his feet. “Jacob Thompson, prove such accusations!” exclaimed Benjamin. “I am disappointed by my son; but I do not think that in his weakest, Peter would attack Thompson property. I will protect the honor of my family!” “It is the truth, Mr. Spangler. I believe Nika.” 156

Shadow of The Conjurer “She…is a Negress! Peter is my son,” replied Spangler through clenched teeth. Jacob was uneasy but stood his ground. “Our servants are not liars, Mr. Spangler.” “There are more complications, son,” said Jeremiah. “Cicero suggested that you and Peter had a disagreement over Nika. He said there was some sort of dance that got out of hand. And Muso stopped it.” “Peter wanted me to dance with their slave, Juba. It was part of Pamela’s celebration. But the dance is not why I hit Peter. Peter threatened us.” “You said he threatened Muso,” noted Jeremiah. “Dancing in general, much less with slaves, is not condoned by me. But it does not give way to violence unless something else is involved. Were you drinking with the slaves?” “No! Why am I on trial?” “Because the results have spoiled this celebration. Should I apologize to our host?” “I would apologize if I thought it necessary.” Jeremiah ignored the statement. “Did you drink with Peter?” “No. I do not drink, but Peter drank all evening. Why do you not believe me?” “Cicero said you and this Juba may have been more than friends.” Jeremiah leaned forward intently. Through pursed lips and closed teeth, he squeezed a venomous conclusion. “Did the slave pull you in, or did you act on your own…impulses?” Jacob was stunned at the accusations in his father’s eyes. What he did not realize was his momentary loss of words was viewed by Jeremiah as vindication. Belief became truth in an instant. “Father, I…I don’t know what to say.” “I should have known. My own son consorting with an ebon whore.” Jeremiah shook his head in disgust. “No! I was surprised at your conclusions. I have not disappointed our family.” “Then why would this Juba say you did?” From the direction of the woods came a response. “I think I know, Mr. Thompson.” All heads turned to see the flaring orange of a cigar coalesce from the moonlit darkness. Peter Spangler entered, his hands parting Muso and Jacob disdainfully to emerge at the opposite end of the table from the paired patriarchs. “I have this thing for nigger women. I know I disappoint my father, but he knows about Juba and me. Jacob discovered my preoccupation at Juba’s cabin. I let things go where he wanted them.” Benjamin quickly interjected to Jeremiah. “I apologize for my son.” “Nothing happened, Benjamin,” said Jacob. “Apologize for his lying if you want, but nothing else!” 157

CHAPTER NINETEEN “Sit at opposite sides of the table. We need to sift through this. Someone is lying. I just don’t know who.” Jeremiah took a quick moment to eyeball his son before turning to Peter. “Explain why I should believe you, sir.” Peter shrugged. “Can’t make you believe me. But I’m not the one who has anything to lose. I’m a jackanapes in your eyes and my father’s. I just don’t care.” Benjamin painfully retorted. “I should disown you. You fail me and your family. Your sister’s future is at stake!” “Not if Mr. Thompson can overlook his son’s failings like you overlook mine.” Benjamin turned ashen-faced. “He’s been ill…as I said.” “Peter is right. He is a jackanapes,” responded Jeremiah caustically. “And Jacob is right also. Peter is disrespectful.” The tension seemed to weaken for a moment. Jacob smiled in apparent success, even as Muso moved a cautious step back. “Jacob, why did you fail to mention your protection of Nika?” asked Jeremiah. Jacob’s smile dropped. “What…what do you mean?” “It is a simple question.” Muso’s hand went back to her mouth, knowing she had to intervene. Jacob would only make things worse. “Master Jeremiah, please hear me out. Nika is my ward. I am responsible for her.” “I told you to be quiet!” shouted Jeremiah belligerently. “I know. But I have something important, Master.” “You are my servant, Muso. Wait until I ask.” “Solomon heard Peter Spangler and Juba talking,” she quickly noted. The drama switched to an unknown card. Jeremiah spoke for everyone. “And why is that important?” “Because Peter Spangler is afraid of Jacob. Of what he may become.” She let the words dangle, the obvious answer to motivation that no one else suggested. “Ah, the witch protects her ward,” said Peter. “Let me be blunt. Jacob doesn’t want Jeremiah to know he has his own secrets. His Nika! He likes the darkies as much as I do.” “Master Jeremiah,” interjected Muso. “If Jacob marries Pamela Spangler, knowing her brother as you have in this short time and knowing your son, how long will it be before Jacob becomes the master of both Fiery Hill and Magnolia Grove?” Jeremiah mulled the plausibility in Muso’s statement. “Solomon, what did you hear?” asked Jeremiah. 158

Shadow of The Conjurer Solomon stood in the shadows but moved forward uneasily, licking his lips and momentarily losing his train of thought. Muso closed on Solomon, reaching around his back as if to brace him. In the darkness she placed her thumb around the lip of his pants, her fingers and palm stoking the cotton cloaking his fanny. “I heard Master Peter tell his slave…that Juba he is a cavortin’ with…that he wants her to tell you and Master Benjamin that Jacob had his way with her.” The candlelight reflected a sharp focus from Peter Spangler, one Solomon noticed with pause. Muso pinched Solomon again. He continued. “Master Peter said he did not want Jacob to marry his sister. He said he didn’t want his sister to ever marry until…” “Go on,” said Jeremiah. “Until his father passed, and Magnolia Grove was his.” Peter stood up and pushed Solomon away provocatively. “Look, old man. I don’t know what this black bastard is up to, but this witch with her hand around him has something to do with it.” Jeremiah did not flinch. “No more lies, scoundrel. Your father should abandon you now as yesterday is no longer an option!” “Peter, leave immediately!” said Benjamin. Peter puffed on his cigar again. “Whether you believe that hogwash from your man I cannot change, but I suggest that you ask your son about his girl.” The candlelight seemed to magnify as Peter moved confidently to Jeremiah, a light purplish glow surrounding Peter’s face, a whisper on his lips. “You disdain my assignation with my black tart. What would you think if your precious son was to tell you he actually loves his as in ‘like a wife’?” Jeremiah turned, the wrong answer changing not only his son’s life, but his own. “Jacob,” he asked tentatively, carefully, fearfully with the cadence of uncertainty in his voice, “if you do not have such a relationship with Nika, do you desire one?” Muso wanted to hold Jacob back, the son who believed his father was demanding but naively believed his father would forgive anything. However, she could not. That would be an admission of her lie and manipulation of Solomon. Jacob would have to be smart enough for an invention or even to say nothing. Saying nothing was better than admission. She wished she had more time. She wished she had said more to Jacob. Muso knew all this, but she also knew that the very reason she loved Jacob would be the reason he would be truthful and that this would end badly. Jacob did not flinch from his father, taking strength from his relationship with the girl and the love that was owed honesty. Jacob could not bend to his father’s will and 159

CHAPTER NINETEEN remain faithful to this new found trust from another, from the well of his yet incomplete perfection. “Father, we should talk of this in private.” Jeremiah twitched, unresponsive at first. His chest heaved, his mind unwilling to consider anything but denial from Jacob. “Answer me! Do you love this slave?” To his credit Jacob did not look away. “Yes” was the simple but firm answer. Jeremiah’s soul filled with rage and focused his fury into a clenched fist that would not be contained. “God damn your soul!” His arm lashed out, the blow striking his son squarely in the temple. Jacob fell to the earth. No one moved. Even Muso held her breath. Peter was silent in victory. Jeremiah stood over his son, his feet straddling the still figure. “For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me.” He gazed into the sky, looking for answers from a ‘far off’ maker of his liking; but none appeared. Jacob rose slowly, brushing away the loose dirt and grass. “Don’t quote Bible verses to me. You once told me they are not life’s experiences.” Jeremiah did not reply but moved away from his son, his fists still clenched at his side, his hands unwilling to be tainted with the leprosy of truth now facing him. Jacob rose to his full height. “You also told me that trusting too much will cause me pain. Unfortunately, you were right about that too, but the truth is worth it.” Jeremiah wanted anything other than the emotional death he now felt. The words stuck in his mouth. Benjamin held him back, the chasm already insurmountable. Jeremiah turned to Benjamin and with his free hand removed his host’s grip from his coat. “It is my turn to apologize. My family and I will leave in the morning, Benjamin. Please express my regrets to your wife and your daughter. Solomon, prepare for our departure.” Jeremiah walked away from his humiliation, farther from family than ever before, even from Sarah, as his stomach turned at his self-inflected anguish and pain. The women framed in the manse doorway light recognized misfortune’s trail. They saw the blow; and in the moments it took Jeremiah to move purposefully past them, his unseeing gaze crushed their expected bond. Peter smiled, whistling as he departed to the quarters for his concubine. The rest of the group broke apart. Jacob walked to his love who awaited him. Muso watched Peter fade into the night, then paced after him. Solomon and Cicero turned and left as well. No attention was paid Benjamin Spangler. He sat in a chair, face toward his broken home. Benjamin’s sorry deportment betrayed the certainty that comforting his wife and daughter would be an unfriendly task. Abigail and Pamela stared back, their frosty and foreboding faces framed in anger and humiliation. 160

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CHAPTER TWENTY Jacob strode through the darkness as if it were dawn, the weight of his life as measured by what he owed his father eliminated in a life-changing confession. The bruised temple and the fractured family were not his concern. For the moment he felt nothing mattered except being with Nika, she from whom he could no longer castrate his feelings, she for whom he cast away his wealth and his family, she for whom he made a stand. He was happy. And the only way he could be happier is when she was with him, and they stood against the darkness together. Not for a moment did he dwell on alternate pathways that barred them from each other. Jacob Thompson would live for the moment and make it a lifetime, despite his father and despite his culture. Jacob quickly found the candle-lit storeroom at the back of the Spangler mansion. Nika turned to meet him, rising simultaneously with the soft rasp of the door. They fell into each other’s arms, their mouths meeting in built up emotions, hers a worry at what transpired and his a freedom from his father to do as he pleased, the first truly independent emotion of his young life. The heat boiled over in a focus for each other the moment they realized their world was their own. “It is over. I told my father I loved you. I’ll take you away if I have to. He owes me that for the lack of complaints, my agreements in every moment we spent together.” “Jacob, Jeremiah is a powerful man.” “It doesn’t matter. This is a moment that is mine. I never felt my life mattered to him, except when it veered from his expectations. They were always his moments. They may have been shared, but I never owned them.” “But my Muso?” “We do nothing until we have talked to her. My father will act on us, but not Muso. He is drunk with the loss of his expectations. He will withdraw and rage internal.” 161

CHAPTER TWENTY Jacob’s thoughts spun momentarily away. “Poor mother, but she has dealt with father through other dark spells.” “Then let us find a place far away from this misplaced selfishness. Tonight is our night.” She grasped his neck and kissed him wetly again, her body pressed against him, the flimsy cotton chemise no barrier to his body, his firmness, and his passion. Jacob reciprocated. Regardless of his inexperience, he intuitively knew where they were one, knew that the grinding of their bodies was an invitation to his hands. And he complied. “I walked near a pond this morning,” Jacob said as he released her. “It borders a large pasture with woods at its side. The moon will be stunning.” Jacob took her hand, carefully opening the door to ensure that no one was in the area. When he confirmed their privacy, he stole out the door. They walked hand in hand to their destination, hidden from prying eyes and able to simply enjoy the closeness of their bodies. Every few seconds a swaying hand touched a lip, a chin, or neck, becoming comfortable with less in anticipation of more. Now they were happy, uncaring of fate’s destination. They emerged from the woods, the strawberry moon shining brightly. It puddled on the pond. It basked the area in a surreal quality, the shadows darker in contrast even as the canopy around them shined with reflected brilliance. Jacob pulled Nika to the grassy terrace at the edge of the reed-covered pond, a limestone outcropping dotting the slope behind them. A solitary willow tree created a swath of criss-crossing moon shadows decorated by the leafy limbs swaying above them. As they lay on the ground, the dark lines splashed lazily across their bodies and then their faces. They spent the first few minutes reverentially exploring each other, light touches of fingers across hair, forehead, and mouth which allowed a slow simmer of expectancy while waiting for their explosion into urgency. Gluttony hid momentarily but ate at their resolve. The couple completed their meal of each other as if time did not matter, the taste sometimes burning, sometimes uncertain from the naiveté of their youth. They spoke nothing for a lengthy period, the sweat drying, the evening coolness prodding and urging them to the comfort of warm and naked bodies. They seemed satiated. After awhile they initiated another kiss of the ear lobe, of the neck, the contact only reassuring, not the precursor of carnal reawakening. “Jacob, we need to talk.” “Why? I don’t want to be reminded of tomorrow.” “I don’t either, but you must know some things about me.” 162

Shadow of The Conjurer “I want to enjoy this.” “This won’t spoil it.” Jacob sat up and leaned on one arm, perplexed at the odd conversation. “You have my attention.” Nika began pulling on her clothes, forcing the same from Jacob. When Nika finished, she crossed her legs in front of Jacob who smiled in curiosity. Settling herself in crisp posture, she balled each hand to her side, turning palms to the sky. Nika then rolled her neck backwards and silently whispered words, African words, unfamiliar words that became stranger as Jacob noticed a slight perspiration popping up around her forehead. Only when the world around him shimmered, starting an earthquake of light, not of ground, did Jacob realize that his perception of the physical universe was about to change. Jacob held on to the grass, assuming that would somehow steady the pulsing of light surrounding them. It did not. In fact, as Jacob gasped in amazement and no small bit of fear, the world continued brightening, the strawberry moon expanding and changing color until it seemed to swallow the sky and stars. His world and the sky above turned a shimmering yellow, but with an undercurrent of change beyond its expansion and its horizons. The ground seemed to erupt with ribbons of bright yellow, even a tinge of green attached to the borders of yellow. The ribbons rippled from the grass, snakelike, whipping around in search of each other, closing out the sky as they solidified. They formed an egg around them, a jail of yellow ribbons. Jacob and Nika rotated slowly within as the ribbons widened to grasp each other like a zipper, creating a different universe. Jacob’s scream at the unflinching Nika was all but cut off in an edgy gurgle, but the sound came not to his ears or hers. Instead, his gurgles clattered in his mind along with a cracking and creaking sound like that of a strong wind when it grinds tree limbs together in cricket-like imitation. Jacob tried to shake his lover, but instead was buffeted about as if at sea. He was forced in horror to prop himself against the side of this otherworldly cage as he frenziedly harangued Nika to stop. Nika’s eyes popped open, widely at first as if in command to Jacob, then narrowing, gently as if to calm her mate. She turned her hands sideways as Jacob’s horror abated. The light in the ribbon orb momentarily blinked into inky darkness, but just as suddenly, between her hands sparked a current of colors within a kaleidoscope swirl of miniature lightning. Nika’s hands and fingers wiggled within the globe of multi-colored light. The reassured but amazed Jacob settled cross-legged in front of her, the hairs on his body tingling and straightening. The night’s talk of witches was not metaphorical. Nika’s attention facially shifted from the control of the kaleidoscope-flashing orb. She looked square at Jacob and without mouthing a word communicated to her lover. 163

CHAPTER TWENTY “Don’t worry, Jacob.” The words were crisp as if they were his own thoughts. “Are you a witch?” “As you define it, yes, I am a witch.” “Witches are evil.” “Have I acted evil?” “No.” “Then you have your answer. Your preachers paint black and white, yet their stories are filled with good witches and sorcerers. Your ‘medium of Endor’, a woman and a witch, foretold Saul’s death. Joseph and Daniel were necromancers who divined dreams for kings. Dreams are powerful and are a medium for spirits, Jacob.” “So what are you?” “In truth, a sailor, but of worlds within worlds. I have been taught to navigate within.” “How? By whom?” “You know.” “Muso?” “Of course, but it is strange only because you do not understand, just as I did not understand your world, your language at first.” “If you are not a witch, then you are an angel. Where is God? Where is Jesus?” “Did I say I was an angel? Why is everything about God? God is God. My village in Africa calls Him Mangala. You call Him God and Jesus. Inside, it is not about religion. It is about a faith in one supreme being who leads us from the dark with love as the seed of happiness.” “So a witch creates living dreams?” “At some point in the past my tribe of conjurers was led here. A talent to open its doors and travel within is ours. That is all. A conjurer, our preferred name for a witch, is no demon. Evil is mankind’s creation. In all that man does, your culture, mine, we have choices. And some subvert Mangala’s message. My power emerged in my change to a woman. Muso, on the other hand, has great power, great understanding.” “And Juba?” “Yes, Jacob, as you suspect, Juba is a conjurer also, likely from my land in Africa; and unlike Muso, Juba is evil. She uses Peter Spangler, probably at his choice. But Juba is strong, much more than me; or I would have stopped her at the dance, instead of Muso.” 164

Shadow of The Conjurer “So I was under her sway?” In Nika’s silence Jacob’s eyes grew wider as he shook his head in denial. “I could not love you more than now, my Shadow. You must believe me.” “I do, my Jacob, I do. But you are a man. And in some ways men are always weak. She led you, but you were willing. That is the truth.” “Then which of our problems is the greater, Juba or my father?” “Or Peter?” “Or Peter. But does it matter? You may be a student, but you brought me to this miracle. Why can we not just disappear here? I would be content.” “This is a spirit’s world, my Jacob. Reach for me.” Jacob did and was startled as his hands could find no grip, his hand slipping through his lover like smoke. “Oh! But I can see you. How does this orb, this bubble, hold us within?” “It has substance enough to travel while containing our spirits. Your spirit image is your own creation, but you have no sense of touch. Only an experienced conjurer, such as Muso, can mimic the tactile senses you normally feel. Here we cannot consummate. We cannot kiss. We are nothing more than an audience to everything within this universe. Not until our physical shells die do we have a sense approaching that of our previous lives, but only with other spirits.” “But this orb holds us! It has physical substance. It held me up as we moved through the storm in our journey from our world.” “Everything is different here. Time is irrelevant. When we go back to our world, we go back to the same place, more or less the same time. But those with strength, those like Muso, they can remake the fabric of this world’s substance, remake spirit, or pull it apart.” “Can you or Muso teach me?” “You are not a conjurer. You are either born with it or not.” “If Muso can reshape, she could change us so we can love like we love on our earth.” “If she could, we would have never come to your Mangala-forsaken land. Even her great powers do not create the experience of the spirits who populate this universe. But I am not yet ready to take the step to join them. Are you?” “No.” “I have much joy in this place. We travel and enjoy our freedom.” “We have the opportunity to enjoy this together, Nika.” 165

CHAPTER TWENTY “Maybe, but not at Fiery Hill. There I remain property and cannot be with you except in secret. Death is expected, maybe welcomed at the end, but its hold is only in our world. Our lifetime on Fiery Hill is but a dust mote in the distance of eternity, here in The Infinitesimal.” Jacob frowned, thinking he misunderstood the term, but continued to listen to Nika. “On earth our experiences are tangible. Life is more expressive, more powerful to our senses. That beauty and substance expands our experience of this spirit world. If we cannot experience the tangible, make mistakes, be courageous, where is our foundation for eternity? I will never throw my life away. I will fight whoever and whatever stands in the way of that temporary existence.” “Then we will escape together, my Shadow! I have access to my father’s accounts in Huntsville and New Orleans. I can withdraw funds before he has a chance to stop me. With that money we can leave from a ship in port and go to Mexico, have a life of our own. There we can enjoy your conjurer’s world whenever we like and return to the soil of home and love all night and all day!” “You would give up everything for me?” “In the blink of an eye.” “Then, yes. Heavens, yes! But we must take Muso. I could not go and leave her to your father’s retribution.” “Then we endure the next few days of tension and admonition. We return to Fiery Hill to leave for a life of our own.” Nika’s hands rolled as if she was sculpting clay. The swirling colors and sparks within her hands grew smaller and smaller, then simply blinked out. The world within their orb went dark and relighted with the flickering, then steady rays of moonlight. The pane separating worlds was removed as the horizon around them thrashed in a frenzy of pulsing shapes and colors, changing into the ribbons of light, then into the green ribbons of grass surrounding the reedy pond of Magnolia Grove. They awoke to their bodies and a new reality. They embraced, Jacob momentarily testing the softness of Nika’s arms as if to ascertain they were real. Then, they fell to the grassy ground absorbed within each other, the urgency painted within their kisses, their pace accelerated from their bumpy start with the newfound confidence of the initiated.

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uso followed Peter through the forest, magically missing the various sticks and brush that would alarm Peter of her pursuit. At one point he stopped as a fox jumped across the trail in front, causing him to turn toward the flashy tail and skipping sound of the little beast’s feet. The heir of Magnolia Grove arrived at the moonlit and dusty streets of the quarters. Here and there candle lit doors were cracked from which peeked children quickly hustled to the safe arms of mothers and fathers. Muso noted the lack of sound from her safe perch beside a huge oak. As Peter burrowed deeper into shanty lane, Muso felt comfortable to move onto its street. Her eyes worked side to side in anticipation of allies or enemies. She dropped silently to hug the bottom of a porch or slide to a cabin’s shadows, ever poised to eye his next step and final destination. Peter reached the house on the left, the dilapidated shanty of Juba. He stopped before entering. He seemed caught in thought as he reached into his side pocket and lit another cigar. His back turned to Muso, Peter drew deeply on the tobacco, emitting a huge plume of smoke that seemed at one point to iridescently sparkle in the moonlight. “Hello, African,” he said. Muso trudged into his view. She moved unafraid, her feet taking strong hold of the dirt and debris in the lane, twisting and turning it with her sandals to augment her presence. She strode to within twenty feet of Peter and stopped boldly, securing her turf. “Where is your master, your sorcerer?” Peter chuckled. “Do I need her?” “A spoiled white man? Why would I not think so?” “And why did you slink in the shadows, witch?” “I am no longer in the shadows.” “Such bravado. Especially bold since my sorcerer…” “Is behind you!” exclaimed Juba. Her hands sparked whirling lines of color as the air shimmered in a red ball surrounding her body. Simultaneously, Peter Spangler’s still hanging tobacco smoke coalesced around him to form a cloud filled with purple lightning. Muso turned toward Juba in reply, her left hand moving away from her back and toward the female, her right moving toward Spangler. Before she could complete any action, she and her enemies slumped to the dirt as the air shimmered, leaving ghostly images of the combatants that simply blinked out. At their leave the crickets started their chorus again. 167

CHAPTER TWENTY

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he physical earth evaporated.

They were inside the spirit universe of the dead. Some were awake, some in limbo, and others unaware they even existed. This universe was the land of dreams or nightmares or a sleep without awareness. This universe was as vast as that of the physical. It had substance, but with different form. If the spirit was unanchored by its parallel identity in the physical world, that is, its physical form was dead, pouring its elements back to the earth, then the spirit was enhanced, energized to seek out others of its kind. However, even then, their substance had layers of transition, of awareness. Some worlds consisted of apparitions clustered around each other in magnetic sense of need, but unaware of anything else. Their dark spot entangled with other dark spots, oblivious to the lives of dreams that could be theirs. To the conjurer they looked like a sea of beetleish bugs walking over and around each other. These teeming lost souls formed a ball, a world of their own. They acted like insect zombies, skittering, eyes unfocused, except in desire of something they could not find. This was a hell, but not as bad as other astral worlds of solitary self-imposed nightmares. In those the spirit was like a closed loop piece of software, stuck on a track to nowhere, but within which the victim created a real universe, a real hell, of their own nightmarish insecurities, desires, and manufacture. Like Dante’s inferno, the rings descended into ever worse embellishments, ever worse creations and experiences. But mostly, the universe around them was defined, not by dark, but by color. This universe filled the eye that was open to enriching possibilities. Its worlds were brighter and more stable. In these the souls connected with loved ones and created symbiotic spiritual relationships, dreams within dreams, layers of experience and creation that attracted other spirits. Below the surface they were chaotic; but only because they consisted of so many conversational-like experiences within groups or couples, a positive energy that enhanced and nourished each participant. Muso longed for this, but could not accept its embrace, not yet. The three sorcerers floated in this universe of shimmering and blinking color, each within a bubble that provided a view of the kaleidoscope cosmos as well as enabling each to sense the others. Muso’s bubble was green, Juba’s red, and Peter’s purple. Within their respective bubbles that marked their magical territory, they worked with their hands to control their globe’s inner power, the small spinning energy orb at the center of their conveyance. The movement of each combatant appeared to be staged in some ways like a 168

Shadow of The Conjurer boxer, but in all cases an appearance of testing each other was in the mix. Muffled thoughts swished in and out, seemingly part of the geography of the emerging certainty of battle. Some were quiet but quick exchanges between Juba and Peter, then an isolated response, possibly a taunt from Muso. Muso’s spirit figure was green like her orb, but with faint flecks and sparks of gold outlining her body. Those sparks especially highlighted the Mande scars of her African heritage. The swirling and changing colors were dizzying. In one moment Muso was human, and in the next she became an energy orb. Lining the outside of her orb was her defense. Hundreds of tiny arms of various lengths and size protruded from and surrounded her globe, their hands and fingers and waves of green ribbons of light wriggling. Most congregated in an organized manner to face either Peter or Juba’s globes. In total they mimicked colorful sea anemones. However, on the inside of her orb the master copy of her arms and hands continued to work within the kaleidoscope energy ball. Juba’s appearance similarly changed as Muso’s, popping into a light red globe of waving and weaving hands, the difference being that most were pointed toward Muso’s globe in threatening offensive postures. They wavered only fractionally from their target, hands emanating little red and orange pellets. The pellets moved into the void like slow motion bullets. Every so often one exploded in a sparkly detonation. It was within Peter’s globe that the change was noticeably different. Initially, the purple globe held a maniacal man in clothes out of place in this paradoxical universe. But the changes Peter took were unlike the phases of color and physical change taken by the Africans. For the first few moments he was Peter; but then his head began a fluttering and disfiguring clack and ping, an orchestra of alternating focused and then blurry changes. Shots of purple light fringed in white emanated from his head, one on his nose, then from each eye, then his mouth, his ears, and finally his entire face until he was himself a ball of purple energy within his globe. Peter’s orb grew in size and belched mists of iridescent sparks that coalesced into waving purple worms. These ectoplasmic worms were much larger and thicker than the waving hands and ribbons of Muso and Juba’s globes. Peter’s entire purple globe was writhing with the worms, the tip of each welling open and shut in eel-like appearance, their mouths filled with the slimy texture of decaying and rotten flesh. Looking down into the maw of any one of the hundreds of repulsive appendages, one would see a hole leading to other dark universes: if smell possible, it being nauseating: if human sound possible, it being a coupling of sickly gurgling and stomach-turning sloshes and splatters. Each conveyance began a slow revolution, not only spinning on its axis, but orbiting around each other like those of electrons surrounding an atom. Their spinning increased at 169

CHAPTER TWENTY tremendous speed in all directions, causing their three globes to blur together and unify into a single huge globe of color. Within the atom-like globe the spinning and swirling electron globes of Juba, Peter, and Muso streaked iridescent currents and sparks that menacingly crackled toward each other. “Why chance your destruction, witch?” echoed the voice of Juba. “Why should you and your student believe you have such a chance?” responded Muso. “You have no idea who you stand against.” “Nor do you. Our powers are not simply a traveler’s. We are sovereigns of this domain.” “I cannot fathom how you found a white man born with the ability of a conjurer; but he learned well, more than you as he takes on the purple while you remain red.” “Red, Purple. What does it matter to us? You have this one moment to surrender to our mercies or your soul will die a final oblivion. Choose.” “Our final journey is only Mangala’s to give, and neither of you represent Him.” “And you are not of His fountain!” responded the booming voice of Peter Spangler, a tinge of jealousy of Mangala’s sentinel seeping through to color his reaction. For a brief moment the green globe of Muso de-solidified, revealing not the intangible shifting orb of arms and ribbons but the face of the African within. Muso was suddenly concerned, even fearful as she understood her danger. This was not a necromancer born of man. “Pemba!” erupted from her telepathic shout. Immediately, the battle renewed. The center cloud winked spikes of color that flicked out and toward the targeted electron fortresses of each magician. Green spikes flicked toward Juba’s red orb or Peter’s purple globe, even as Muso’s green egg took multiple strikes of red and purple. A closer examination revealed the spikes were fusing the colors of both victim and striker. The impact changed the texture of the globe. It spread a film of the fused color in an attempt to envelope the victim in a thin poisonous membrane. The attacks created a slow erosion, like acid on metal, pitting it and cracking it, whiffs of spectral smoke oozing out of the small craters and fractures. Every now and then a conjurer’s fortress emitted a powerful surge of light into the astral universe, seemingly a leeching of its power, usually green or red. Every so often a worm-like appendage materialized outside Muso’s orb and like a suddenly alert purple penis attempted to penetrate the skin of green energy that was her bubble. The worms repeatedly challenged access to Muso’s egg, but instead of fertilizing it, attempted its destruction. 170

Shadow of The Conjurer Ever so methodically Muso’s globe of green deteriorated, even as Juba’s slowly crumbled as well. Only Peter Spangler’s globe remained strong. A mechanical sigh rang out in the sorcerers’ minds as if a generator within Muso’s globe was shutting down. Another enormous appendage moved out of Peter’s globe, its mouth forming a slavering swirl of purple teeth that spun like a dentist’s drill. When it attacked the top of Muso’s green globe, it dug in with its teeth and sucked with its mouth, attaching like an evil remora, pulling out Muso’s essence while replacing it with the dark goo of the evil spirit. Muso felt this attack as a pain that materialized in coldness, a numbness that began spreading about her globe, slowly moving in a line toward her interior. Muso, the stoic warrior, the conjurer for Mangala, grimaced at the pain, but mitigated its effect with renewed vigor, brazenly unhumbled by the slow spread of purple blood over her globe. Muso’s mouth formed Mande words of reflection. Surrounding her globe appeared ghost-like yellow signs. “The origin of all creatures is in the signs,” spoke the spectral warrior, Muso. “‘Ti kalama’ is the sign of the unity and multiplicity of Mangala.” The magical signs floated in and out of solidity. The purple worms and red spikes dotting the cloudy exterior around Muso’s globe seemed afraid of contact with any of them, bouncing off of a sign or vibrating whenever contact with one of the signs was inevitable. “Kama blõ. I am the vestibule of the master of the sky. Māde blõ. I am the vestibule of the Mande,” echoed the strong and indomitable voice of Muso within the atomic shell of combatants. With the last blessing that blasted out to her enemies, the signs congregated in twenty-two groups of twelve, subtle similarity but also abstract differences between each group. Muso’s face disappeared and shape-shifted again inside her smoky orb, blistering and bubbling into yet another entity, an indistinct green in the middle of the floating golden signs. “Doni siya wo siya yello balu. Alsi Mangalala kalama tentu! (The seed of all knowledge is fertile with the blood of life. Praise its creator, Mangala),” chanted the voice of Muso. Instantly, the pulsing middle of Muso’s green globe flared into a green sun of light that temporarily blinded the area. When the sun disappeared, inside Muso’s vestibule were twin green globes representing the ancestors of man. One was metaphorically male and the other female, each with entangled and wiggling spectral hands that bonded the two, themselves now signs of God, like the other talismanic metaphors. The individual signs now totaled the sacred 266 signs, representing the gestation period of woman and the creation of the earth. With a final shout to Mangala, the orbs and signs merged into one again. The reformed globe erupted thousands of spittle-like knives that elongated along 171

CHAPTER TWENTY their jelly surface and shot out from Muso’s bubble. At their freedom within the spirit cosmos, they burst into speedy bullets of green flying in all directions, momentarily showering the spectral universe with a mist of magical weapons. These pierced both the purple orb of Peter now revealed as Pemba, the ill born and age-old demon of Mande legend, and the red orb of Juba. At their piercing the kaleidoscope battlefield shimmered, then dulled. The orbs returned to translucent floating bubbles, devolving into the original single globes of the combatants. Inside the barely reddish glow of Juba’s orb was her spirit body lying in disarray. Peter Spangler’s globe recovered strongly. Peter’s human shape reappeared, almost in backward increments of how it disappeared, the final conversion of light moving back to coalesce to his human but spirit form. His face split into a merry smile; and he danced within his globe, light spilling out of his hands and splashing off the inner surface of the egg-shaped ball. As his dance accelerated, his surface brightened to a blinding purple brilliance. His egg exploded in even greater size, absorbing the reddish globe of Juba. Peter’s bubble grew like the death of a star before its final eruption of matter and fire. As it brushed against the now dull green and barren globe of Muso, her globe exploded into whiffs of spectral vapor, moving out laterally in all directions, but disappearing as does the fog when touched by the sun. At the green bubble’s disappearance the spirit world vanished. The earth and moon reappeared. With a pop and whoosh of rushing air the dusty shanty street accepted Peter Spangler. The heir of Magnolia Grove rose from the ground and continued his gleeful and triumphant dance in the dust in front of Juba’s moribund shack. He was reformed into man but remained possessed by demon. Muso, his defeated challenger, lay dead at his feet. In front of the dilapidated hovel on the barely usable steps groaned Juba, spread-eagled and flailing before falling silent. She blinked once in watchful attention to the moon that shown above, the golden light streaming into her struggling eyes. Then she lay still, the only sign of life a shallow breathing mixed with a twitch of the little finger on her hand.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE The bell clanged as it did every morning at Magnolia Grove. Nonetheless, this was not the unhurried, metronomic ringing of the everyday. This was shrill enough to raise the dead or the living. It was the call to come immediately. Nika ignored the sound. But the bell continued its peal until she was certain this was different. Through the clanging of the bell she heard background sounds of opening and closing doors and feet running and leaping from porches. Somewhere in Jacob’s mind, in his assumption of a dream, was the thought he and Nika were headed somewhere together. He awoke and rubbed his eyes. Why was the clanging so loud and continuous? His door opened, and his father entered. Solomon solemnly stood next to Jeremiah, holding his hat in both hands, gripping the straw rim with dear life.

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group of slaves held torches as the sun began its morning peek over the barn. Jacob and his father, accompanied by Benjamin and Solomon, pushed through the small group. Cicero knelt beside the body, talking quietly with one or two of the men. A handful of women watched the proceedings. Jacob heaved backwards at the sight of Muso. To see the body of such a treasured friend could not have impacted him more unless it was Nika. He quickly scanned the crowd, mouthing a relief at her absence. “How did this happen?” Jacob asked of Cicero. “I don’t know, Master Jacob. But I see no reason for her death. Could be a sign of the dropsy or apoplexy. We see that time to time though it is usually in an elder.” Jeremiah interjected. “If her heart failed, it is because of that guardian of hers. Your rolling in the dirt cost me a fine servant.” 173

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Jacob turned to his stern father and gave a look of exasperation and annoyance, but returned to Muso’s body, unwilling to continue the argument burning in his father. “Did you thoroughly examine the body for any sign of intended harm?” “No injury or wound. I checked.” Three slaves carried another body. The crowd parted for the men. They carefully placed it next to Muso’s. The women in the crowd were congregated at one end; but when they saw the body, they started a crescendo of gasps. The others backed away and crossed themselves, making superstitious signs of protection. It was Juba. The slaves moved to a respectable distance. They were bundled closely together in the direction of their homes. One of them piped up. “She still alive, Master Benjamin. Just shallow-like. Delirium maybe, or catalepsy, but no injury. She just…almost dead. Don’t like it at all, master.” “Both injured at the same time?” asked Benjamin. “Cicero, you said these two were cussin’ and at odds last night.” “Yes, sir.” Peter Spangler unexpectedly joined the crowd. “Hell, there were fireworks to spare last night.” Jeremiah moved in front of Peter. “Leave, charlatan. You have nothing to add unless you killed my servant yourself.” “Wouldn’t dirty my hands. But something’s fishy. Juba was hurt after your slave’s threats.” Jacob stood to face Peter. “Muso didn’t threaten you. She simply tried to protect us.” “From what? We were dancing. How ridiculous is that? And you believe Juba and I are dangerous?” “You called her a witch!” “She is and several other things too. I’d take a whip to a sassy darky like that.” “We don’t use the whip at Fiery Hill,” said Jacob emphatically. “More’s the pity. Where’s your girl? She’ll need to see this,” replied Peter. Jacob looked back at his father, caught in an undesired discussion. Peter continued. “My nigger there really likes me too. Look what it got her. Fact is, your Muso, your dead Muso, followed me back to the quarters. Did you know that, Jacob?” Jacob was surprised at the news. 174

Shadow of The Conjurer “Caught me right before I went inside Juba’s cabin,” noted Peter as much to Jeremiah as to Jacob. “Had a few words. Your slave said I caused a rift between you and your father. Said Jeremiah would sell Nika. That dead nigger was angry enough to kill. I believed her. So did Juba.” “Father, don’t listen to him. Muso could not kill anyone, even this vile bastard. Things are bad enough to…” Jeremiah responded quickly. “Bad enough when you consorted with Muso’s ward! She pulled you down and caused the death of her guardian.” Another figure entered the scene. It was Nika. She bounded through the crowd and burst through in a pant to Muso. She fell to the ground in a groan and gurgle, sickening to Jacob. Sharing of grief was between her and Jacob alone. Jacob knelt and placed an arm around Nika as Jeremiah fumed, his anger increasing from moment to moment. Nika cried loudly with desolate rails, her face buried in Muso’s shoulder, her back heaving convulsively in painful tremors. She turned to take Jacob in her arms, the need for comfort overcoming any caution she might have in her relationship with her lover. Jeremiah tried to pull the lovers apart. The captain of Fiery Hill was livid with their display in front of the crowd. “You are deluded in your moral superiority, father!” exclaimed Jacob as he shrugged away his father’s grip. “I can do what I want. You don’t own me!” “But I own this slave. Get away from her!” Jacob pushed his father from Nika as Peter smiled at the distress. “Leave her alone! Muso is her family. Only Muso understood Nika. Muso protected her!” “I disown you, insolent brat. Get your hands off of me!” roared Jeremiah as he pulled from his son but closed again in a swing that was easily countered by the youth. This time Jacob pushed Jeremiah to the ground, unwilling to use his fists against his father. Nika ignored Jeremiah and moved toward Peter. “This is your fault, you bastard! You killed Muso, just like you tried to rape me!” Her fists and nails were a flurry of blows and scratches. Peter simply absorbed them without effect, laughing at her rage and sorrow, the scratches bringing blood to his face but no change to his mirth. Cicero and Solomon pulled Nika away as she spit and cursed the scion of Magnolia Grove. “Crazy bitch!” said Peter. “If you were a man, I would shoot you for those accusations.” 175

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Jacob grabbed Nika. “Please. Please, Nika. This isn’t helping.” Jacob pulled her to his side, encouraging her mourning on his shoulder. “It will be okay,” Jacob repeated as he swung her softly back and forth. Jeremiah left them alone but straightened his clothes, his fury betrayed in an uncontrolled tic at the corner of his mouth, especially as he noticed Magnolia Grove’s chattel. They were astonished with the couple, not because they ignored what could happen between their women and masters, but because no one believed such genuine feeling was possible between such couplings. For a shining moment it made them feel noble again. After a minute Jacob motioned for Solomon. “Take her back to her cabin while I talk with father and Mr. Spangler. And stay with her.” Solomon nodded, but his small tugs at Nika were not working. Jacob whispered in her ear. “Nika, there is nothing more to do here.” Her head shook in disagreement, and he continued. “I’ll bring Muso to Fiery Hill. She will be respected, and you will get your chance to say goodbye. Properly. Now go back. Your presence will make things harder.” Nika nodded, wanted to kiss her lover, but smartly thought better of it. She simply placed a finger on his lips, nodding a second time. She directed a last glare at Peter Spangler and stormed ahead of Solomon in angry steps. Peter called to a couple of men who picked up Juba. Benjamin and Peter walked with them to the barn. Jacob turned to Jeremiah. “I’m sorry it came to this, father. Truly I am. But you know Muso better than that. Muso would never jeopardize her or Nika’s position at Fiery Hill.” Jeremiah muttered. “Muso was strong willed. Benjamin and Solomon told me they saw her heading in the direction of the quarters after the incident.” “Maybe one or the other, but how could both Juba and Muso fall?” prodded Jacob. “No wounds, either of them. It was God’s judgment,” Jeremiah said with finality, the sneer in his face strongly indicating yet again that the whole problem was Jacob’s doing. Peter and Benjamin returned from the barn. “Benjamin,” said Jeremiah. “Is there any recompense I can make to correct this?” Benjamin’s eyebrows furrowed. “You lost a valuable house servant, not me. Juba’s function at this plantation has always been suspect. If she dies, it will matter little. I would have sold her except for Peter,” he said with sarcasm and a little regret at his own lack of backbone. “I have a proposal that benefits us both.” 176

Shadow of The Conjurer “I’m listening.” “Give me a good price for your servant, Nika.” “No! I would never approve,” shouted Jacob in reply not only to Benjamin, but mostly his father. Jeremiah ignored Jacob’s angry dissent. “Why are you making such an offer? I benefit, but how do you?” “Father, as your overseer, such a sale is not in the interests of Fiery Hill,” said Jacob rapidly. “Nika is a wonderful house servant. She…” “She can be easily replaced.” “You break her completely.” “Shut up, Jacob! She has no special skills. She is young and trainable. How do you benefit, Benjamin?” said Jeremiah in interest, looking for any reason to erase doubt for his acceptance. Benjamin fidgeted, uncertain of a response. Peter interjected. “Our loss of Juba should be corrected. You agree Nika is trainable. If she isn’t, she is no worse than Juba. We will sell her. But if you need further, I acknowledge a little retribution is involved. On both our parts.” Jacob rushed Peter, grabbing the lapels of his rumpled jacket and shaking Peter violently, his face within inches of Spangler. “You won’t have her, you swine! He wants her for himself!” “Whatever do you mean, Jacob?” replied Peter smugly. Jeremiah pulled Jacob back as he approached Peter. “I would hear it from your father, brigand. You are a waste, most likely will stay that way.” “Not your problem. Is it, Jeremiah?” suggested Peter disdainfully. “Peter, stand back,” said Benjamin. Peter accommodated, knowing he would have his way. “Jeremiah, tempers are flaring. You need distance. Jacob needs distance,” said Benjamin. “I won’t!” shouted Jacob. “This fixes nothing!” Jeremiah held back Jacob. “Won’t Pamela be reminded of her dishonor?” “The slave will not be in the mansion. She’ll live and work nearby. Cook and weave like the others. I assume part of the recompense for me is in the nigger’s price. Like Peter said, Nika is more valuable than Juba.” “But Pamela?” 177

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE “Pamela leaves after the summer for school. By the time she returns this will all be forgotten. I’ll have my daughter a new suitor by then.” “You can have the slave. I ask for nothing,” said Jeremiah. “No! I will leave if you do this, father.” “Jacob, I make the decisions for Fiery Hill. Return and bid your mother and sisters goodbye.” Jacob’s face reddened, and he stormed off toward the quarters. “Done,” said Jeremiah as he extended his hand to Benjamin Spangler. Peter Spangler pulled a cigar from his lapel and lit it as he watched Jacob vanish down the trail.

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acob thrust open the door to the small cabin. Solomon and Bill were at a table. Nika was in the bed, turned away from both men. She turned to the sound of her lover.

“Solomon. Bill. Leave me with Nika. Go to the mansion and prepare for our departure. Be quick!” “What about Muso?” asked Solomon. “Leave her to me. I will be at the house shortly.” Solomon’s eyes flitted between Nika and Jacob, curiosity expanding in his eyes; but Jacob would have none of it. “I said now, Solomon.” “Yes, master. I’ll go by the barn on the way to ensure our wagon and carriage are prepared.” “And say nothing of the news to mother or my sisters. My father should handle that.” Solomon did not push. Solomon had no further link to Muso. That adventure was left behind, but Solomon knew he had the advantage. He would be overlooker once again. Jacob’s struggle with his father for the slave would fail, and Jacob would be forced from Fiery Hill. Jacob watched the men leave. He turned to Nika and took her hand, wiping away the tears on her face with the cuff of his sleeve. “You must do what I tell you. We have little time. Father decided to give you to the Spanglers.” Nika could have panicked but didn’t. She had Jacob if not Muso. “How will you prevent it?” 178

Shadow of The Conjurer “We leave now.” “My God, Jacob, we have no horses, nothing to sustain us. And Muso? I can’t leave her like this.” “She would want you to, Shadow.” “You would not understand, but we have hope.” Nika turned from Jacob toward the wall, her hands around her mouth and face. “But a mad escape, it won’t work. Not here. Not in this place. If you steal me and they find us, which they will, we lose everything.” “But a plan requires more time. It would require I leave you here to that…that monster.” “I can handle Peter.” “How? He will do what he wants. His father will not stop him.” This time Nika approached Jacob to calm his fears. Her hand brushed his face. They took each other in comforting arms. No kisses. Simply a strong embrace of encouragement that their love would conquer. “Jacob, we have no other choice. If he takes me, it will be if I am tied or if I am dead. If we leave at this moment, we do so on foot. The dogs will find us before the day is out. We must wait and fool them.” They moved back to the bed, momentarily yearning for comfort, but knowing that time would not permit such relief. “I don’t like this.” “I know, but we have no other choice but death. Our love deserves more.” “Then, I do so with trepidation. Stay away from him if you can. I will return soon. I’ll bring horses and money. My father will see a defeated son but will find to his regret that loathing is buried, but not extinguished. I am quite capable of taking what I want.” “One other thing, Jacob. You know the hill to the east of Fiery Hill about a half mile?” “Yes.” “Look on the north side near the top of the hill. Look for a large dead cedar still rooted in the ground but broken in its middle. Follow the direction of the break down the hillside until you reach a rock outcropping. Move the debris bunched in a crevice there. It masks a sinkhole in the hillside. At its bottom is a small cave. Inside you will find the bag that you recovered for me when I was a child.” “Why do I need to worry about that?” “It is my protection.” 179

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE “I don’t understand. It is a waste of time.” “Whether you believe or not, I am stronger with my charm. I have carried it with me since I left Africa.” Nika bowed her head, seeming to stop and struggle for words, obviously on the verge of losing control. “My grandmother…gave it to me. I’ll tell you more when we have time.” “Hill east of Fiery Hill. Broken cedar at top leads down to a cave. Got it. Starting in two days time, leave an oil lamp on the porch at night so I know where you will be.” “I will remember the light, my Jacob.” “And I will kill Peter Spangler if he touches you.” They bid adieu in a short but passionate kiss. Only when he left did Nika seem to lose her composure. Nika felt abandoned, her trust in Mangala little more than superficial musing for Muso’s memory. She wished she had her charm. She wished Muso were here. She wished she knew what Spangler would do. Listlessly, Nika lay on the bed. Though the summer heat forced its notice, she pulled a cotton blanket over her body.

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acob left separately with Bill. Muso’s body was placed in a bag filled with cedar boughs, then inside a wooden box with additional boughs to hold off the smell of her decay. Jacob felt it his duty to escort her. The Thompsons owed Muso that much. Attention in death for her duty she gave to their family. The trip home preoccupied Jacob in quiet planning as the wagon jostled and swayed. His desire for Nika’s safety left little time for small talk with Bill. Bill did not press, knowing and appreciating the roiling in young Jacob’s mind. He respected Jacob because Jacob stood up for Nika, even against his powerful father’s wishes. Jacob wrestled with the ‘when and how’ to rescue Nika. He would have to write it all down, all of the details. He would not get a second chance.

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olomon and the Thompsons left in the carriage in the afternoon. Jeremiah was happy to avoid confrontation with Jacob in front of Sarah. Of course, Jeremiah admitted his fondness for Muso and would miss her sassy mouth. She made him laugh and her ability made him prideful, even if he would not outwardly admit to such a sin as pride. On the other hand, Jeremiah reasoned Muso would have been unwieldy if she was alive, maybe downright troublesome. He would have sold that harlot ward of hers at the first chance if the Spanglers had not offered to take her away. At this moment he simply wished Jacob was like Peter Spangler, a libertine, but nonetheless a 180

Shadow of The Conjurer predictable man, even understood, because he indulged a man’s need, not some idiotic misplaced feelings for a Negress. Jeremiah felt alone, even betrayed by his maker. He would hold to this feeling, this anger. God! Why me? Let me stay angry. Angry men protect this country, this culture, and this family!

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO The day and night passed slowly for Nika. In the first few hours of that first morning by herself, Nika mourned, as much for Jacob’s departure as for Muso’s death. She mourned quietly, befitting the courage expected by her grandmother, Jikindi. Then, when the afternoon came and no one knocked on the door of the cabin, the first questions arose in Nika’s mind, first fleeting, then taking more solid form. Nika was pleasantly surprised by the lack of attention. She wanted to be alone. She feared Peter Spangler’s inattention was intentional to create worry, that he wanted her to question what was next. If that was the case, it was working. As the day elapsed into evening, her turmoil churned louder, disrupting the salve of rest. The space between thoughts became more jumbled as the questions bumped into each other haphazardly, creating doubts, and eroding confidence. She was, after all, only seventeen. Nika did not leave her bed to take care of her body’s needs or to light a candle or oil lamp. So it was strange when the door creaked near dark, that her mind was momentarily relieved at the sound, not frightened. It flitted through her mind that she would have answers, bad answers, unwanted answers, but answers nonetheless. Her relief instantly evaporated with the voice of the sardonic and blissfully triumphant Peter Spangler. “You’re mine, hellion.” Nika wheeled from her bed, her heart hammering, her panic accelerating. Spangler waited for Nika to close the distance to the door, teasing her with escape before grabbing her waist and pulling her to his side. His strength was far greater, and he had the cunning to strongly cuff her waist and back in a spoon to his stomach and chest. This disabled her flailing nails and fists to incompetent sideswipes, only eliciting his throaty laugh. He swung the door shut with his foot, afterwards cupping her shirt-covered breast. 182

Shadow of The Conjurer Nika planted her feet on the floor, using them as a leverage to throw Spangler off balance. The wrestling couple careened about the dimly lit cabin as the few chairs and crockery crashed about, roiling dirt and debris into clouds that layered their clothes and faces with dust and sweat. Between the lurching dance around the floor, Peter’s whoops of excitement, and Nika’s screams of anger, Spangler craned his voice close to her ear, goading her futile and gradually tiring efforts. “Give it up, little slave. You know you want it.” “Someone will hear us, you bastard!” “Do you think they will do anything?” Spangler’s breathing grew harsh, his masculinity firming in anticipation as he rubbed against her. He moved a hand inside her blouse, tearing the cloth and grabbing her breast and nipple. When Spangler’s grip loosened, she pulled his palm and lower thumb into her mouth and bit forcefully, her loss and new captivity concentrating her rage into a vicious crunch. Peter screamed in pain. Spangler let her go, and Nika hobbled to the door. As she fumbled with the latch, Peter caught up with her. Nika barely saw the clay bowl whooshing toward her head. Stars exploded into bloodied vision as clay fragments showered around them both. She crumpled to the floor. He grabbed her foot. Dirt raked into her mouth as Spangler dragged her to the bed. She recognized the coppery taste of blood blending with the earthy salt and mineral taste of the clay and dust of the floor. He threw her, and she landed with a crunch on the corn shuck mattress. Strong hands came to her throat, squeezing tightly enough to stop the air. Nika thrashed weakly, the blood and dust gagging her airway. The world stopped; and she blacked out, just as the hands relaxed.

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ika’s eyes burst open in trepidation and fear, the dark masking her face but not her helpless screams. His hand darted to her mouth. She registered his sweaty body clinging coolly to her naked back. The throbbing ache in her head reflected his gift of the clay bowl. This time Nika pummeled her panic down her throat, despite the knowledge of her rape. She squirmed from her disgust and distaste, leaving his touch only on her mouth. The dark took yet gave back. It hid her resentment of her sadistic and sated tormentor as well as denying his hubris the satisfaction of the tears that flowed down her cheek. “You have what you want. Will you leave now?” “Not until I have had seconds, maybe thirds. Fourths as long as you’re wet and slippery!” 183

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Nika’s teeth ground in stifled indignation. “You cannot do further unless you wish to beat me…Master…Peter. If you do so, I will not be as useful when you rape me again.” “My, my, aren’t we overdone in our self-pity.” “Overdone, you bastard?” “Pretentious. Garishly theatrical. What the hell do you want me to say? Or is that too fancy for you? How about plain insincere?” “You raped me, damn you!” Nika shot a fist into the dark, hitting his shoulder before his fist grabbed her forearm. “No, my little bitch. I did not. Law allows what I want with my chattel. I could shoot you, and they would do nothing except look down their hypocritical noses and fine my uncaring ass. So I can have your tasty little cunt anytime I want. And when I said you were insincere, I meant you like it. Deep down, you don’t yet realize it.” “I’ll wash you out as soon as you leave, you pathetic brute.” “I don’t want your kids.” Nika spit at him. It landed on his face, a large glob of droopy spittle that hung in his moustache. Peter tittered softly unperturbed, tastelessly spooning the glob with his forefinger and wiping it on Nika’s nose. “I would kill them and myself before birthing them into a world with a father like you. You love nothing but yourself.” “Isn’t it refreshing that I am so predictable?” “You are evil!” “I’m not evil, sugar. Is the lion evil when he takes the zebra?” “A lion chooses to live. You killed Muso for pleasure. Her death was unnecessary. Her life pleased God.” “You misunderstand. I am not here to please God. I am here to please me. Be smart and get out of your God-pleasing, God-fearing corner. You may be African and outcast in this land, but you and I can enjoy this insatiable life. Look for the part of me that is inside you. It has been there for a very long time.” “Like Juba. Dead Juba,” suggested Nika icily. “Yes, like inside Juba, the heated little bitch who knew what she liked, asked for it, pleaded for it. But Juba’s not dead. She killed your guardian, but your fate is in my hands.” “You have authority over me, but I do nothing willingly. And don’t lie to me about Juba, sorcerer. I sensed your power at the dance. If Juba is alive, she is not far from death. 184

Shadow of The Conjurer But you are uninjured. I say that makes you stronger. How a white man in Alabama is receptacle for such power is worth finding out. Who are you, really?” “Mangala gives. It is up to us to apply.” “Mangala? How do you know that name?” “How could I not know if you believe me a conjurer?” “You both murdered my guardian. That’s the only way you could have beat her, so don’t count on my cooperation.” “Oh, but I already have. Your dreams, my little bitch, are they fantasy, or do they stir memories?” Nika paused for a moment, confounded by his knowledge of The Dream. “You try to infect me with your poisonous forebodings.” “Night reminds of our weakness, that we are overwhelmed by things greater than us. You should seek protection, Shadow.” Nika froze, the uneasiness washing instantly up her arm in chilly prickles of fear, her breath or words unable to escape from her lips. “My, but have I said something wrong?” “You heard Jacob call me that.” “Did I?” “Why do you want me? I am nothing, just a ‘no account’ nigger girl. You have dozens.” “Your saving grace is your emotion and beauty…and your complexity. The others are grits without salt and butter, nothing like you. I’ll leave now.” “You will leave me alone?” “Am I not sensitive for leaving my instincts behind?” “You are! Leave!” Peter laughed. “And do I send someone to dress your wound?” “No! It will heal on its own. Please leave immediately…Master Peter.” “Mas-ster Peter, huh? So compliant. No matter. I’ll be back for more. You’ll be awake next time.”

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acob and Bill arrived at Fiery Hill late at night, a full day ahead of Jeremiah. Jacob told Mathias and Josey of the tragic news. Josey was inconsolable and in a swoon. They forced her to take a large slug of Bill’s secreted whiskey. Josey was 185

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO left to her crying and worry. Mathias accompanied Jacob and Bill to the slave cemetery to inter Muso. Before their departure down the hill to the cemetery, Bill went to Muso’s cabin to look for articles for Muso’s journey through the afterlife. He secured a shawl, herbs, and charms, comfortable that these were personal enough. Jacob wiped away the sweat from his turn at digging. Muso’s quilt-wrapped body was lowered into the cool earth. She was laid the traditional west to east. A metal plate was laid at the top of her scalp to suppress evil haints and spirits. Though she may not have believed in Gabriel’s call at the resurrection, she believed in the power of God. Muso’s hands were folded over her shawl, one hand encircling her herbs and charms. She would need access to her ‘magic’. Tonight was a quiet night for reflection of the good woman. A month from now, the slaves of Fiery Hill would have a celebration of her life, knowing from past experience and Jeremiah’s fondness of Muso that the planter would grant them a day of rest for the hearty festivities that would aid her journey home. Jacob blundered from the cemetery toward the mansion, grateful for a night alone. Bill and Mathias walked to their own troubled sleep, Mathias checking on Josey before going to his cabin. Jacob hoped his slumber would be long and hard, but it was fitful, queasy, and uncertain. He read a book on agricultural practices, hoping for boredom to ease his mind. It was three o’clock in the morning before a glass of warm milk along with bone-weary exhaustion washed him into a dreamy but troubled sleep.

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acob’s body physically trembled in his bed as his dream washed through slumber. It was the touch of Muso on his shoulder that settled his tremors, opening his spectral eyes to the insubstantial clouds of his vision.

Jacob turned to face her. Muso’s vaporous touch was pleasing and reassuring. She pointed to the area before them where the cloudy floor parted. The fog dissipated for her story’s opening diorama-a wall of nothing but black. Into that void before creation burst light. Jacob instantly knew this was the hand of God whom Nika called Mangala. Jacob was opened to the startling complexity of God, that He could be one form for Jeremiah, yet be a different but centrally the same God for Muso. God or Mangala was the same God for all men, the embodiment of good. Man’s pride caused him to worship a name, though in truth a good God does not need worship, cares 186

Shadow of The Conjurer not what he is called, only children who embody the love He stands for. Names were for men who needed a jealous god to control others. The next image was that of a breathtaking cosmos, one of energy and nascent life, but startling to a man of the early nineteenth century. The picture blurred as if the view was moving faster than an eye could behold, the light from stars and galaxies streaking by with intoxicating speed until passing close to the sun and stopping over the blue waters and clouds of Mother Earth. Into this beautiful picture came a ‘falling star’ as Jacob would call it, a meteor that crashed in the lands of darkest Africa. Into this beautiful garden emerged an abstract concept of intelligence born of Mangala. Into this beautiful garden came the concept of twins, to Muso and her people the strongest presence of life and birth. Into this beautiful garden was brought not only Pemba, but his twin sister, Muso Koroni, beings of energy who emerged from the meteor and floated over the jungle before merging with the wandering bodies of foxes nearby. Jacob eyes rolled under their lidded covers. His tongue whipped out to wet his chapped lips before retreating again. Minutes of such activity were interrupted only by the sheen of sweat that emerged from the pores covering his face. Then abruptly, his eyes opened. Jacob swiftly pulled to a stiff position in the bed, his eyes still wide with questions. “Muso Koroni? And who or what the hell is Pemba?”

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t light Jacob dressed and left the house, carrying a cotton sack that included an oil lamp and a flask of oil. He waved at the few people he met before turning on the dusty road near Fiery Hill. The road fell straight east before winding to the north toward Bell Factory. The hill rose in front of him. Within the hour he was at its top. Jacob located the dead cedar to which Nika referred. He could make his way more or less in the direction of the break, the sun filtering through the treetops in pockets and staircases of lights. At his arrival at the outcrop he made out the dead limbs and brush covering an area in the middle. Jacob scrambled down and began pulling at the loose debris, uncovering the dark recesses of the sinkhole, an open coil of rock dropping several feet to unknown darkness. How much further the hole fell he could not tell as it slanted to hide its secrets. He worried that rattlesnakes were around and within, especially in the hot weather. They lingered in the cool dark on sun-hidden rocks, awaiting his hand or leg. Jacob reached into his bag for the lamp and oil. He lit the wick with a fire kit, quickly adjusting the flame while he peered into the darkness. The flame was insufficient to dislodge the furtiveness of the lower ground. Jacob sighed and moved his legs and hip toward the sinkhole’s edge. The 187

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO opening was ample for his body, and the angle allowed a purposeful but slow immersion. As his feet hit the bottom, his heart slowed in relief of ground. Jacob stopped, shocked at what he saw in front of him, all fear of snakes vanishing. The cave wall was decorated with a multitude of symbols. A crude altar holding an assortment of totems of obvious African origin festooned its façade and was garlanded by a two-foot wide and six-foot long red-dyed cloth. It was draped over a frame of sticks that fronted the foot of the wall. Curiosity drove his steps. Jacob knew nothing of totems and emblems, Indian or African, prehistoric or historic; so he soaked in their mystery on the cave wall, more abstract than the alien astral galaxy he witnessed with Nika. “Muso, you brought me here! Tell me what to do.” His gaze moved from the wall of symbols to the altar. Nothing like Nika’s bag lay on the table of stone. Candles, however, decorated the altar and many of the surrounding rocks in the shallow room. Jacob began lighting these. In seconds fragrance filled his senses. The candlelight flickered off the walls as he examined the glyphs. So strange. They appeared in rows, but their connection baffled him. Some figures were clearly human in appearance while others were animal in nature. Numerous box-like glyphs with a variety of differences between each filled the rows of emblems. Jacob touched several of the emblems in belief that touch would connect to their meaning. He received what felt like a splash of static electricity. Jacob pulled his hand back to his eyes, searching for residue or an insect bite or something that physically registered the surge. The world around him seemed to float and fuzz, the glyphs beginning to unfocus, the air taking on a heaviness. The fragrance in the candles ruptured into his mind, becoming sharper, more distinct. What was that smell? It was earthy, yet exotic, foreign but enticing, almost beckoning. His eyes closed. Jacob fell in a stupor to his knees. He slumped into the dust of the cave.

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fox stared intently at him. “I am Muso,” said the fox.

Jacob was not surprised at a talking fox. “I thought you were dead.” “Death is relative.” “I don’t understand.” “I have moved on.” “What does that mean?”

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Shadow of The Conjurer “You ask too many questions that are unimportant. Ask some that make a difference.” “Is this a dream?” “Foxes cannot talk, can they?” “Granted, so how can I trust the message of a dream?” “With the realization that you have faith or you would not be in this cave.” “Fair enough…Muso. But my only goal is to save Nika.” “Good start, young man. Narrow your questions to those that help you understand what you are up against and why being here helps save Nika.” “Okay. Why a fox? Why not Muso herself?” “The fox helps you understand that the children of Mangala, or God, have many forms. Muso the conjurer has been gifted by Mangala to take the forms of His lesser children if necessary.” “You mean you were transformed into a fox upon your death?” “Let’s just say I borrowed Mr. Fox. In a sense I help him do what Mangala would want and, by doing so, enable a lesser child to become useful in God’s eyes.” “So you will help me as a fox?” “Mangala willing.” “Are you Muso Koroni?” “You know that is not so, young one.” “I suppose so. But who is Muso Koroni?” “The Mande or Malinke are my people. Muso is Mande for woman. Muso Koroni is a female spirit, a primeval soul. Muso Koroni was our spirit mother, but flawed, a storm of emotion and lust with no bounds. While the Mande people do not understand why, Mangala appeared to make a mistake in her creation that He later corrected.” “God made a mistake and remade His own creation? Neither sound like the story I heard from the Holy Word.” “Are any of His creations perfect? We both hate and pride ourselves in our imperfections. Why not Muso Koroni? Mangala’s reasons are a mystery. Maybe His universe cannot exist without balances. Maybe like the rose, beauty is non-existent without the thorn.” “Muso Koroni is evil?” “Some would call her calculations evil.” 189

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO “So God, your Mangala, remade Muso Koroni?” “Our Mangala, Jacob. Our God. I learned of Dios, Spanish for God, on an evil place in Cuba. In my home many of the Mande subverted His call by killing and enslaving their brethren. I am here because of them. Same God, different religion.” Jacob nodded in agreement. “God’s ideal, no matter what religion, is the same. Jesus, or Issa as the Mande call Him, stressed that ideal of love. You say God and Issa are the same. If so, they are just different roles, different shells, for the same Creator. I say God is too great, too perfect, to be worried about a name. And He is great because of His message. Mangala’s ideal, His message of love, changed me…and it changed Muso Koroni.” “Muso Koroni is now good and that is why she remains?” “Muso Koroni is aware of her mistakes. She seeks redemption. At our core our hearts beat as Mangala’s. Mangala intentionally allows but does not create evil. We are His good and our evil.” “Why are your legends important to rescuing Nika?” “As I told you before, Muso Koroni is a twin. She has a brother.” “Pemba.” “Yes, and Pemba has no guilt, is not a penitent. He remains mischievous…unrepentant. As my spirit can take a fox, he can take a body. Do you begin to understand, Jacob?” How could this connect to Alabama? Then it entered his mind as a bullet to the chest. The blood of alarm flowed strongly to the realization that Juba was in a coma and…Peter Spangler, weak-minded and selfish Peter, was capable of allowing, desiring a demon inside. Peter Spangler was not the student of Juba. He was her master. Peter was Pemba. “Oh, Muso, what possible chance do we have against Peter? He is a demon.” “Do not worry, Jacob. Love succeeds at God’s pace. Pemba is not Mangala. Pemba believes my soul dead along with my body. Pemba’s lack of this knowledge makes him easier to target.” “Then who is the soul named Muso?” “Muso was a vessel. I am Jikindi. I am Nika’s grandmother and Pemba’s greatest enemy.”

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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Muso the Fox revealed no emotion with the revelation. “What happened?” Jacob asked. “I was of his own. In some ways I am still, but I betrayed Pemba. Pemba is the fox of our legends. The trickster. I was at one time what you call a black witch. I was a twin. My twin brother, Baaku Bandeh, was the repository for Pemba while I was the same for Muso Koroni. We were perfect conduits for Pemba and Muso Koroni, the original twins. We were given to the demons at birth. But my experiences in life changed me, brought me back to Mangala…forced me to betray Pemba as he betrayed Mangala.” “How?” “The details would take too long, take another story. However, suffice to say that I brought Muso Koroni, my liege, to my way of thinking.” “So Pemba’s sister moves to a convent, so to speak, to atone. You caused it, and he blames you. Sisters move away from families all the time. No one gets angry with that. Why wouldn’t Pemba get over that by now?” “Pemba and Muso Koroni were not only twins. They were coupled.” “I guess I am slow, Muso.” “They had an incestuous relationship, Jacob.” It took moments for Jacob to respond, the knowledge so unexpected, so slimy. Then the second shock to this news hit him. “But if they were incestuous…you…and Baaku?” “Yes,” said the fox unapologetically. 191

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE “Oh…my…God.” Nothing could have surprised him more. “Our cultures are different. But think of this, Jacob. Your legend of Adam and Eve is much like Pemba and Muso Koroni. Both couples were banished from their Gardens of Eden. If you view their gardens as the real and daily presence of God, their gardens failed the moment they gave up on God’s instructions. Eve was a twin like Muso Koroni, maybe more so, born of Adam’s rib.” Jacob understood this analogy. “Muso, sorry for being rude.” “You have nothing to forgive, Jacob, but call me by my rightful name. Jikindi.” “Alright…Jikindi. But Pemba is not human. I am more afraid of a demon than a man.” “You and I must remain cautious. The loss of a sister is one thing. The loss of lover and companion is quite another, especially to something as evil and powerful as Pemba.” “That does not help.” “Then remember I beat him. I not only brought Muso Koroni back to Mangala, but I brought back my brother, Baaku, at least for awhile. That other story I mentioned.” Jacob nodded and then looked around the cave, Jikindi’s school for Nika. “What does all this mean? And what am I supposed to do?” “You are to retrieve the bag…and listen.” “And if the bag was so important, why did you leave it in the first place?” “Because it was so important is the reason to leave it behind, protected in this temple. The bag contains the key to a mystical prison, the only kind that can hold Pemba. It was created by his powerful sister, Muso Koroni. The key is a magical thorn, hollow and filled with arcane energy.” “With everything that has happened, I should not be surprised that something so small should hold something so powerful, but I am. Still seems you should have kept it with you.” “Maybe, but its forfeiture would mean our calamity. That it still exists is due to my caution that arose from its brief loss. It was your efforts that returned it to me after Nika lost it those years ago. I thought Pemba might come, but not as a white man. I believe he would have recovered the thorn without a chance for us to use it against him.” “How did he find you?” “I thought…I hoped he was gone for my lifetime after we escaped him in Africa. I accepted slavery so easily because it placed Nika and me in safety around the world, far from where Pemba would return. But I leave a scent. My power has a color that only 192

Shadow of The Conjurer Pemba or a witch can feel over time and space. Even in you, a pale trace of that power, that color, shades your emotions, your choices.” “Colors connected to emotions seem right, but power in colors?” “In this context we are talking a real energy, a strength dictated by its color. Red is chaos, a very tempting and powerful color that takes skill and experience to attain. Mine once was red and at my end as a dark witch I was touched with the purple, like Pemba, beyond the power, beyond the satisfaction of red. Pemba has a pride in his color, certainly his power. It consumes him. It is his weakness as well as his strength.” “So what is the opposite?” “Legend suggests blue is the missing color.” “Missing?” “No witch has ever been cloaked in blue. Before Koroni opened the door through the thorn to her exile, Koroni’s purple died. When she left, she was hardly a color at all, almost gray in sorrow; but her edges, her receding outline as she entered to exile, was frayed with a barely perceptible orange color as if she was starting a shift backwards.” The fox seemed to be lost in memories. “I don’t understand,” said Jacob. “A young witch like Nika always starts in the yellow. The tantalizing point is that a good witch moves to the green by endorsing the emotional wealth of community, the opposite of self-serving. The opposite is a more powerful draw. Once the fullness of desire latches onto a witch, and not just lust, but all things self-serving, then its draw moves that witch through a longer road. Each accommodation toward purple fails to satisfy. More is always wanted. That witch travels through orange to red, then finally to the most difficult but self-satisfying color of purple where power and desire are mixed to its heady but deadly end. Muso Koroni’s penance involves her going backwards through those steps to yellow and starting over. As did I.” “Nika said I could not be a witch.” “No amount of training will make you one, Jacob. My color is now green. It seems to be a compromise between peace and chaos, emotions that seem to dictate the lives of humans, right? I changed my core, and my aura changed to green along with it. I went from yellow to red to purple and then backwards to green. Since my arrival in your land of shades, such a choice has served me well.” “So Pemba was coming regardless? This other story?” “I tried to hide my color scent, but Pemba is much more powerful than I. Pemba followed it. How I don’t know; but my trail and, I believe, Juba’s brought him to Alabama 193

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE where a white son of a plantation owner welcomed him, probably drew him because of Juba’s proximity. Desire has its dance with the weak-minded.” “Juba’s presence could not be coincidental.” “She is gone, so I cannot say.” “How will these signs on this wall save Nika from Pemba, from Peter Spangler?” “The signs express the will of Mangala…God. There is meaning, Jacob, a structure if you open your mind. They represent the genesis of our world.” “So Pemba is in it? That painting on the wall?” “In a small sense, yes, as is Muso Koroni. But Mangala dreamed our world, and, thus, it was created. He put it together, in Mangala’s time. We need simple things to understand that His universes bloom with the pinprick of His thought. Ours is just one. The small signs look like dots, like pinpricks, connecting the larger boxes of symbols?” “Yes, I see. Is it some sort of timeline?” “In part. Those dots, those marks, are called ‘yala’. They represent Mangala’s connection of the various geographies of our world, of the Mande to the outside as well as our link as a culture and family to God. There are 266 different signs of creation. We like to compare a woman’s time to create new life with the time Mangala needed to birth our world, our universe. They have great power against Pemba because Mangala admires our metaphorical connection to Him and the birth of life. Pemba understands this blessing of Mangala. He has touched them before to his detriment and pain. The most important layer of instruction, the most sacred, is hidden behind the red curtain.” With the statement, the red flag slumped from its wicker frame; and just as suddenly, the frame dissolved, revealing the symbols behind the inner temple. Behind the fallen curtain was a single symbol, its center a large series of concentric circles with a staff horizontally dividing the circles. At one end of the staff was a large yellow circle and at the other a smaller red circle, together they almost looked like a set of eyes with a brow of circles in the middle. “Mangalala nyolu (Behold the eyes of Mangala), the orbs at each end of the staff. Their center, those circles, is our world, our universe of stars and earth. We are the center of Mangala’s consciousness. He watches over us always, Jacob. His brain and His heart, His center, is our world, is us.” “The yellow orb at the end of the staff is the Sun?” “Yes, yellow with the heat of life.” “What is this small red orb at the other end, His other eye?” 194

Shadow of The Conjurer “It is symbolic of the blood of birth, of the gift to women from Mangala, the repeated opportunity for new life in our wombs. Even the curtain was dyed red to honor that connection.” “Well and good, but how does this help?” “You believe you have no chance against Pemba. To have hope you must understand why we suffer. Remember the red sun. It represents hope eternal. The blood of the woman, like God in the face of evil, always repeats its cycle. Evil’s victory is temporary at best because of hope. Hope guided by love is our optimism, and it exists in even the direst places and times.” Jacob nodded. “That small red star, like the smallest seed of Africa, the fonio, shows that life emerged from blood flowing over the fonio, the grain of life and afterlife. Mangala’s universes emerge small, like the tiny fonio, but become large. The twins are connected. Male and female are connected. God and mankind are connected. Pemba’s strength pales in comparison to that connection.” “You call him Mangala. I call him God. He loves us both. I get it. But Nika is with that monster while you and I walk through a dream. I want her away from him now. Not tomorrow. Not the week after.” “It may appear cruel, even despicable to voice, but be patient, Jacob. Mangala’s time is unfathomable, but have faith it will come.” “That monster has your grandchild, Jikindi. Waiting on God is not an option. So I hope you have something else, or I will leave for Magnolia Grove tomorrow because that would be more than her grandmother is doing.” The fox sternly held her ground at Jacob’s reproach but continued without reaction. “I have a plan, Jacob, and you are its implementation.” “Good. Tell me another thing. Is Nika the grandchild of you and Baaku?” At the added challenge Jikindi the Fox uncharacteristically licked her paw, disengaging from Jacob as if Jikindi was hesitant with the answer. “Yes, she is ours. Nika’s mother was our child; but she was lost, lost so long ago.” The fox turned to Jacob, her dream tears red and puddling on the floor of Jikindi’s cavern cathedral. Jacob was heartbroken for her and recognized immediately his insensitivity. “I’m sorry, but my need to help Nika got in the way.” “I lost Nika’s mother, but I have not lost Nika. You need to plan your escape with Nika. But, Jacob, don’t forget the bag, Nika’s charm. I need it to fight Pemba.” 195

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Jacob’s eyes blinked, and he shook off the stupor. In front of the steep coil of rock leading to the waiting daylight sat a fox. In front of the fox’s feet lay a bag, Nika’s bag. The fox barked softly, and the sound echoed off the wall. The fox’s snout opened in the smile of the dream. She turned and bounded up the rock stairway. Jacob stood and grabbed the oil lamp. “Is that all? Pick up the bag, and bring it with me. A fox will do the rest?” He began the crawl upwards to the expectant sun, pulling faith from the conjurer, and maybe God, but certainly from what he had experienced, and feeling trepidation because of it.

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ika lapsed into exhaustion as Peter Spangler exited. What reserves she may have had were expended to battle him both physically and mentally. The bruises were painful, but the emotional ones were worse. They followed her into The Dream, Nika’s nightmare that was submerged only with the help of Muso, now reawakened by Pemba’s rape. The Dream of Nika (A.D. 1830 - Niger, Africa - The Sub Saharan) Nika is ten years old again. She has no time for remorse or fear as The Dream floods her mind. Escape is in the background, an ever-present desire of her subconscious. Shadow does what her grandmother tells her. The ten-year old runs quickly coming to the woven fence marking the edge of the dead village of Mande Faro. And she stumbles as the world turns darker. She unwillingly opens her mind to a world unknown to children, populated by flashes of obscenity and demons with long tongues and slit eyes. Each one is obnoxious, each one vaguely human, demons doing things that a child hears in the dark of a hut, barely sees but does not comprehend. Nika understands these devils are paired with other devils, devils that motion to her, motion her to join them. Do not fear the blood they say. Do not fear these couplings of bristly appendages and gaping wounds. Participate. You will never be the same. Shadow sees that each demon is rooted to the bubbling purple flesh of something larger. Shadow’s eyes move up this living hill of groping nightmares, noting not only the obscenities, but the rotting and offensive gore of open gashes and decaying tissue that dots this rising and swelling redoubt. Only when her eyes move from the single trees of coupling fiends does her mind register the forest of these in a master pattern of wriggling and unsettling hairs on the sides of a giant breast, unsettling worms oozing and making filthy squishy noises that ripen into a symphony of swelling hubris. This is clearly a gorge of 196

Shadow of The Conjurer human fault; but one that ripens with use, putrefies in finality to this physical and giant nipple, swollen and deeply mottled, that hides the vague outline of something terrible above. But most unsettling, most terrifying is the realization that this is an entire jungle of living evil connected to and poised for assimilation with other like-minded, a single entity of gluttonous malevolence that is nurtured by greedy assimilation. It can only grow larger. The shell known as Shadow slowly weaves her face into the dirt of the village of Mande Faro. The ten-year-old child is turned, not with tenderness, but with the rough firmness of experience. Her young cheek caves to the hand of violence, blood spattering the air in a sheet that sprays both victim and batterer. The slavers of Allah fetter another bird for the chains. Her legs are spread by the slaver and her tenderness forever violated. Her eyes turn cloudy, not dead in body, but lost to the senses and dead in mind except to the possessor. They flare with purple, her lip curling into a smile of satisfaction. “I have come to you now, little Nika. Jikindi has not stopped me. She prefers the finality of her brother Malinke who trust in Pemba.” Nika smiles at the slaver’s response. He is no longer with Allah. He is with Pemba, and she joins with him. There is no unhappiness in the possessed, only the blissful illusion of union. The slaver takes his advantage of the small body and does not see the purple-eyed she-cat draw his dagger from its sheath. As he howls in conclusion, she smiles; and her eyes sparkle gold as the dagger gleams in the moonlight and flashes upward between his ribs, severing his kidney, nicking the heart and aorta. Blood gushes from the wound, baptizing her as it flows outward and down between their bodies and between her legs. Her demon eyes close in ecstasy as her hand remains glued to the dagger’s hilt. Nika could survive anything with such power! The slaver’s essence flows into her, their coupling the experience of the same fount.

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ika woke refreshed and that bothered her. She could not understand the reasons though she was happy that the previous day’s sadness seemed far away and less troublesome. But the bother was the fact that she had to dwell on Peter Spangler to really feel the hate of him. He killed Muso, killed Jikindi again with that power. Maybe for the final time. The death of her honored grandmother, her protector, elicited the strongest emotions of her young life. It left her adrift, even considering Jacob’s promise of return. But today Nika felt stronger though it was from a nagging belief that somehow Peter Spangler was responsible for that strength. 197

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Nika attempted to resist Peter. She tried to think of Jacob and their future. That comforted her. Her blood pressure and heart rate slowed. Her daydreams moved to the fantasy life with her lover. She remembered his touch and its tingle. She remembered the strength of their lovemaking. Her heart pinged yet faster, the strength of it causing a flush in her lower parts. His eyes were fixed on hers as she imagined the power of his thrusts. It felt so good; and as Jacob’s eyes turned purple with flecks of gold, she grasped him tighter and her breathing grew shallow. Nika’s eyes flashed around their edges in accompaniment with her lover in a purple phosphorescence. Spangler entered her cabin. Nika’s smile evaporated so she could hate and resist, but slowly, as if the fog could not be erased by the sun of her lover.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Sarah believed that Jacob and Jeremiah’s break was not permanent, that she could help it mend. Jeremiah would want it to work, even as he did not admit that he did. Sarah served her husband’s favorite lemonade on the terrace overlooking the west pastures of Fiery Hill, Jeremiah’s place for meditation and relaxation, the view exposing the best of the plantation. She set the tray on the table in front of Jeremiah’s cushioned chair. He was sweating profusely. Even at seven in the evening, July in Alabama was miserable. The sun was low, below the branches of the large sycamore tree next to the house. It colored his face, illuminating his worry. Sarah took Jeremiah’s left hand from his leg and grasped it softly, yet unyielding, knowing that even the lion of Fiery Hill needed gentle consolation, sometimes needed to take strength and direction from his wife. “Will you talk to him, Jeremiah?” Sarah asked quietly. “I will. I planned to. But he won’t listen.” “But you will, husband. You will do that for me, won’t you?” Jeremiah turned to his wife, his refusal painted on his textured and leathery face, but the plea softened his inflexibility. “Of course, Sarah. Always for you, wife. Always for you,” he replied while stroking her hand in assurance. “And for our son as well, Jeremiah.” Jeremiah nodded, his lips hardening as he turned back to the fading sun for fading solace. Sarah was unable to do what was required to stop this travesty, he thought to himself.

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acob wrote in his journal, not only to record the events at Magnolia Grove but also to avoid interacting with his father. As he finished the entry, he thought of his mother, his heart breaking with how his plans would hurt Sarah. And she would miss his journal. He knew that his mother glanced at it now and then though recently he began hiding the diary when his thoughts of Nika could not be controlled. He knew she read it before, always expected it, but was careful what he wrote without betraying his knowledge of her excursions into his private thoughts. Jacob locked his door and removed the bottom drawer of the trunk, pulling out the loose slat. He gingerly hid the diary within. Jacob would read the diary to Nika in their spare time. Disregarding the journal’s mostly dull platonacy, Jacob hoped she would come to appreciate its secrets as a masked poetic prose building to his love for her. Jacob carefully drew his plans with Mathias, and even Josey who was a willing participant, her guileless nature being planned for use in a way to fool Jeremiah and delay his intervention. Though neither Jacob or Mathias said so, Josey’s participation would be excused as that of a fool, although a loving one. Josey had an allergy to dairy products. If consumed, she would become bloated and nauseous. Josey would add beans and spoiled meat to tomorrow’s meal of raw milk and cheese. She guaranteed she would be sick by the evening and away from work the next day with the trots. By the time Solomon ran her down asking for Mathias or Jacob, they would be long gone. When they did find her, Josey’s answer would be simple but alarming. “They went to get Nika of course. Don’t you know, Solomon?” Solomon was the driver, not Josey. He was supposed to know about the ‘comins’ and ‘goins’ of plantation owners and their sons, not her. Solomon knew Josey wasn’t one for details. Get well, Josey, he would say when he smelled her cabin and saw the leavings, her poor ill body curled up on the bed. In Huntsville Jacob figured he could get $3000 without raising too many questions. Jacob would tell the banker his father was expecting him to retrieve supplies and slaves from Nashville. The banker knew Jacob was the new overseer. Once he and Nika made the furious ride to New Orleans, his father’s contacts there and forged papers would enable another transfer, maybe as much as $5000, plenty to start life in Mexico. However, Jacob worried about Mathias. Jeremiah would be unable to accept his participation as anything but unforced. Consequently, they worked out the lie, Jacob’s betrayal being so absolute as to absolve everyone as being deceived, not deceivers. ‘Jacob told me Jeremiah changed his mind’ Mathias would say. Jacob said Jeremiah agreed to a compromise based on her sale. Why would a slave challenge his master’s son? Jacob and Nika would leave him tied at Magnolia Grove, bruised and broken, their destination only suggested. Poor mouth Mathias if you want, but it wasn’t his fault. 200

Shadow of The Conjurer Of course no one would know that Mathias’ real purpose was to further the deceit by pointing the Spanglers, the Thompsons, and the authorities in a different direction. Under duress Mathias would say he heard mention of St. Louis, maybe the Mississippi River with a hint of Canada. It would be some time before Jeremiah’s New Orleans contacts would offer any hint of something different. Jacob and Nika would be to New Orleans for a sailing ship to Vera Cruz before then. Hopefully, Mathias would have time to work into Jeremiah’s good graces. Jacob rose from the chest and walked to the window. His heart ached for the loss of the plantation. Its good memories. But he could no longer stay, not only for Nika, but because he no longer believed in Fiery Hill’s institutions. He could not stay even if Nika were white. Gazing out to the field below his window Jacob saw the little creature’s bushy tail, not a hundred feet away. It appeared at the lawn’s edge, its long snout turned up to his window. Jacob waved. The fox flitted its tail once and pawed the air in recognition. It floated back into the darkness of the woods.

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eter slammed the cabin door behind him. Nika did not flinch. “Maybe I should leave the door open, so others can hear what a foul man I am,” said Peter. “Suit yourself, Master Peter. You clearly stated your intentions yesterday.” “But I left you alone. To recover. Clearly I have the best intentions, not the foulest.” Nika did not respond, nor did she turn from the wall. “Shadow, I will refrain from the bullshit, but you will talk to me. You know I can be a bastard.” Nika turned to Spangler in obedience but avoided eye contact. “You came from Africa with Muso. You are not here because of me. You are here because of other Africans. I simply take an opportunity. As would any man.” Nika’s face darkened, but she avoided Peter’s eyes though her shoulder trembled with the effort. “Betrayal can come with any color. Whether the betrayal was then or whether it is today makes no difference in its condition, master.” “Other men would fail you audience. They would never think to consider you.” Nika sighed but did not respond. “Answer me.” 201

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR “You raped me once, and now you pull my strings for another go at me. Do whatever you are going to do and quit talking.” “Yeah, I guess we cannot get by that. Whether you were raped yesterday or long ago.” Nika looked up at him for the first time, a snarl hiding her fear. “What do you know of that?” “Jeremiah discussed your and Muso’s procurement, your predicament with that man, McGeorge. Did I get his name right?” Nika hesitated. “He touched me. He even hit me but did not rape me. Muso sheltered me…in the only way she could, Master Peter.” Peter pulled a barely usable chair from the cabin table, scooting next to the bed and reversing it so he could lean on the frame. “Muso protected you; but do not forget that men like me protect you also, even as we use you. Hate makes us stronger in the long run. As much as love. And your God uses evil men even more than good ones. He knows we succeed.” Nika remained silent. Peter rested his chin on his cupped hands at the back rail of the spindly chair. “You don’t deny it at least. Think back. When did you feel the safest? When you were angry, or when someone else fought your battles? Life is battles. That is why I care less about others. I say take care of yourself before you’re of much use to anyone else.” “And were you taking care of yourself when you killed Muso? I long for revenge. It may yet come to pass.” Peter laughed. “From the grave? You do not know how far she would have to come. The real reason for that scene at the barn was your realization that you lost more than her body.” “You are trying to scare me again.” “You should be, and you are. Your protector is gone…both of them. And she cannot return, no matter what you believe.” For the first time Nika began to see, began to understand. She drew her courage from Jacob, who had promised to come, but even in absence, she drew courage from her grandmother in a determined reply. “She would want me to fight.” “There’s that…and more.” 202

Shadow of The Conjurer “You want to rape me again.” Nika’s eyes met Peter’s squarely, a vaporous and illusory knife in a fist providing strength to the building fury at her impotence. “Yes, I want you. I’ll take you. You are left only with defining your accommodation. But I give you strength as well. I make you feel unlike anything you felt before and could with that…boy. Accommodation without disgust will let you realize that. What will it be?” In response Nika pushed Peter backwards to the dirt and leapt for the table where a small knife awaited her fist, flimsy in utility, but more solid than the imaginary one stoking her fire. She turned to stab, but he grasped her fist. She whirled to rake him with her other hand and nails, managing only a slight scrape of his chin as he deftly parried the quick strike. Spangler twisted her arm behind her back and forced the knife from her hand. Then he twisted the remaining arm around. She was helpless, facing away as he applied more pressure with a knee to her spine. Her thighs splayed on the dirt floor, her stomach and face held in place on the bed. Spangler’s breathing grew harsher in his enjoyment of Nika’s desperation. “You are predictable, little witch, successful or not!” “And I will do it again!” “I am sure. Taste your anger. How can you forget that?” “Forget what, you animal?” Pemba responded by savagely cuffing an open hand several times to both sides of Nika’s head. “When that slaver took you, you took him! You killed him! You enjoyed the heated flush that followed. That is the power. Taking it and feeling its surge and energy, its effect on your senses. Whether its love or a fuck does not matter. It is the excitement!” “Jacob will kill you for this!” Pemba snickered disparagingly at her lame threat. “And you know that I will take Jacob before that.” Pemba wrapped his belt around her arms, freeing an arm to grope Shadow. He flipped her skirt over her back and dropped his pants to the dirt. He took her. She screamed and thrashed. Moment to moment the thrashing quieted as her faint accommodated the devil’s pandering. “Remember your first. Remember!” exclaimed Pemba. The memory flooded her consciousness. The presence was overwhelming. Then and now. And like then, the force of it took her to a place that changed her, the only path for a survivor. Pemba turned her body to face him. Her legs obliged his bullying. Her eyes flashed with an effervescent joy and a phosphorescent glow of purple tinged with gold. She and 203

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Pemba were one. And like the first time, something inside of her slept. It awaited a protector stronger than Nika, wilier than Pemba, while a darker side accepted and enjoyed her tormentor. That was the essence because if she were victim and weak, that person would be dead in mind and body. Nika chose strength not only by submission, but through acceptance. Her only recourse against a real monster. She shuddered in its pleasure, even as it changed her, even as her legs surrounded its passion and indulgence, even with its brutal force. The rest of the shanty residents heard her difficult choice and shut their doors, shutting out the new witch of Magnolia Grove.

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acob turned from his window as he heard the knob turn and stop with the lock.

“Jacob? Why is the door latched?” asked Jeremiah. “Just a moment.” “You did not answer, son,” said Jeremiah at entry. “I wanted some privacy, father. You should understand.” Jeremiah sternly examined his son but nodded. “You’re entitled. I guess things are not going the way you would like. I understand, even if I do not condone your behavior.” Jeremiah folded his hands over his chest. “We should talk.” “Talking won’t help. Neither of us will budge. You because you think you are right. Me because I know you are wrong.” He said the last without taking his eyes from his father. Jeremiah’s arms were stiff, a purposeful attempt for control belied by a slight tremor. “Your mother wants us to talk. I told her I would listen to you.” “Selling Nika was much worse than using your fists on me. Selling her to Peter Spangler was unforgivable. You took away the only thing that mattered to me.” “Straight to the point then. Nika is African and a slave. What do you expect of me? Your worlds are impossible barriers to each other.” Jeremiah’s hands searched the air in a gesture of uncertainty, hoping for the right words that did not come, trying not to say what he wanted to say, subconsciously glad that his hands were busy so they would not do what he wanted them to do. Jacob’s eyes flashed both anger and understanding. He nodded slightly, understanding not a sign of agreement. “Impossible…yes, I can see your thinking.” 204

Shadow of The Conjurer “Jacob, I was wrong to hit you, but I was right to stop you. Maybe you cannot appreciate that now. Maybe…” “Let me make my own mistakes, father!” “You are eighteen. You don’t know what you are doing, much less the rightness of it.” “Father, I am young. I will make mistakes, but I am not aimless. I thank you for that, for the strengths that you gave me.” “Then listen to me, Jacob. I have the age and my own mistakes that can help you…” “Let me finish, Father. I have always been afraid of you. In ways you may not appreciate or understand, your ruthlessness in my raising had that affect. Except in your sink or swim choice, I choose to swim to my island, not yours. It is why we shouldn’t talk. I have come to believe in the wrongness of slavery. I cannot continue at Fiery Hill with that belief.” “You say that because of that… that slave.” “That woman. A human being with a soul…and a heart.” “Then you do it to plague me, to get back at me for taking her away from you. From doing what was best for you!” “If we have different thinking, you can never do what is best for me.” Jacob’s head dropped in a sad shake of disagreement but also discouragement. “I don’t fit anymore. Not here.” “That makes it easy, then. You will take a year for another apprenticeship, this time in New Orleans learning the mercantile and financial aspects of our business.” “Just ship me away? Did you hear nothing I said? I no longer believe in it.” Jeremiah’s demeanor hardened, his eyes reflecting the obstinacy he was famous for. “Then, you don’t believe in me or your family anymore.” “Right.” Jeremiah’s face turned red. To his credit he did not lash out. Subconsciously, he must have remembered his promise to Sarah. However, the unmeasured response from his son gave Jeremiah the excuse to leave, to believe that he had to leave because he was one second, one angry response from taking a gun and blowing his son’s brains out.

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arah knew something was amiss. It was transparent in the stony face of her husband, a stoniness that she knew hid a deep anger. This anger threatened the gentle woman’s only drive, that while her family’s peace and unity were fractured by thunderous distortions and twistings, the fracturing would be temporary. Jeremiah’s short answer that Jacob would take some time to mend was what she expected, but details of their discussion were not forthcoming. This lack of information was a red flag. She asked again the next morning. Jeremiah said the usual when she asked questions that he felt were not hers to own. He told her tactfully that he had it well in hand. His stonewalling was accented with sharp edginess. Jeremiah lost his temper with Josey over a minor accident. She vomited while waiting on the family at lunch. Sarah determined to intervene with Jacob. She knew her husband was incapable of such care. When Jacob asked to be excused, Sarah waited for the right time. It came that evening while Jeremiah sat on the porch, adrift in his own thoughts and wanting not to share his world. She walked the carpeted steps to the bedrooms. Sarah wondered how she would approach her son, steeling herself for evasive answers. She needed to determine what happened but also to let Jacob know she appreciated what he was going through, that it was not easy being Jeremiah’s son, that she loved the values her son demonstrated in the past week if not the choices. Sarah started to knock but heard the slamming of drawers and articles dropped on the floor, almost a panic in movement, not a soft rustling in preparation for sleep. Then she heard the creak of his trunk that held his important mementoes and keepsakes. Her wariness increased as she silently remembered his conduct at dinner. Jacob’s stares were out of character. Sarah knocked strongly at the door. “Jacob, it’s your mother.” “Just a moment, mother.” Sarah heard a muffled scurrying of activity. She lingered patiently, awaiting the body language in her son’s secretiveness. Jacob was all smiles, his mouth stretched beyond a mask of casualness. “I heard rustling. What are you doing?” She noted the saddlebag on the bed. “Just getting ready for bed. Did you need something?” “The saddlebags say something different. You’re leaving, aren’t you?” “Mother! Goodness, that…that is ridiculous. We just got back. The crops need attending.”

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Shadow of The Conjurer Sarah walked to the bags and opened one to find provisions of dried beef and corn pones. Jacob interfered with her investigation, pressing his hand on the bag, moving in front of his mother to reattach the leather thong holding the flap. “Sit down, mother,” he said and pointed to the chair at the desk. “I need to get away from father for awhile. He doesn’t need me anyway. He has Solomon. In fact, does not want me here. We both need distance.” “Does your father know you are leaving, that I was not informed?” “No.” Sarah knew she could talk bluntly with her son without repercussions. “Are you going back for that girl?” “Say her name, mother.” “Alright. Nika.” This time doubt had no chance. Success depended on the lie. “No,” Jacob said firmly. “I care for Nika, but I will not retrieve her yet.” “Yet?” “Yes, yet. Because I will force her return eventually, even if I have to sell her again to appease father.” “Then where are you going?” Jacob responded to protect Mathias. “Father wants me to go to New Orleans, but I’ll do different. I’m going on a journey. Where, I don’t know, maybe north. I don’t know how long. A year. Two years. Who knows. But one day, I’ll come through the doors of Fiery Hill to greet you.” Jacob tenderly took her shoulder. “I’ll miss you.” Sarah rose. They took each other in an embrace that left her shivering, almost in tears as she choked back the emotion. “I am so worried, Jacob. You have no plan. No timetable. Do you have money?” “I’ll get money in Huntsville from the bank, so don’t tell father.” “We have money to spare. I won’t tell him. However, you are my first and my best. I don’t think I can live without your face at our home, in our life.” “You can, and you will, if not for me, for my sisters and for yourself. Father is a hard man.” “Yes, he is, but he is also an honorable man. He loves you like he loves this farm.” “No, he doesn’t.” “He does. Yes, he does. He doesn’t show it well, but he acts in our best interests.” “Maybe. But his priorities are not what you think, mother. Leave it at that.” 207

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Sarah sat on the edge of the bed, patting the blanket for Jacob’s attendance. She looked for the truth in his face as he sat next to her. She drew his hand into her own. She would not press; but she knew he was going for Nika, even as he denied it. “Bring her here if you change your mind, son. Bring her here.” Jacob said nothing but gripped her hand tighter. “Jacob, do me a favor.” “Yes?” “I saw your journal in the saddlebag. You mean to take it with you, but you can’t.” “I need to, mother. It’s part of me now. You saw to that.” Sarah took his hand in both of hers, wringing them in worry. “I guess I did. And I know that you know I read it from time to time. God forgive me for my indiscretion.” Sarah turned toward her son, need written on her face. “Son, it is all I have of you. Don’t take that from me. You said you would return. When you do, I’ll give it to you. It may be the only thing that brings you back.” Jacob was torn by his mother’s plea. The plan was the book would be the treasure of Nika’s, of their commitment and history, but he could not turn from his mother’s request. Jacob walked to the trunk. He revealed the hiding place of his diary. “I’ll place it here. See that father remains ignorant of its location.” “Of course. I was wondering where it was. I almost asked you. Thank you, Jacob. Don’t fail me. I love you so.” “I love you too. And I won’t.” They finished their goodbyes. Sarah said it would be hard for her to hold back the tears, to not reveal what she knew to Jeremiah, but that she would. She elicited one more promise of his return, and she left. Jacob walked to the saddlebags and removed the journal. He opened it to the last entry. It was long. It was the trust in something magical. It was Magnolia Grove. It was Muso. It was Jikindi, and it was her story she shared in her dream. But mostly, it was unbelievable. Jacob could not let his mother read it. She would think him mad. Good God and Mangala, he would think himself insane without what he saw and experienced. The fox. The fox was without a doubt Jikindi Muso. And Jikindi Muso was the only hope for Nika’s escape from the demon. Jacob carefully ripped the pages of the last entry from the journal. He creased them for his coat pocket. He paused before removing the last few things he needed for his escape. His last act was to place the journal into the trunk’s secret confines before he crept quietly into the dark where Mathias awaited him. 208

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olomon reported no one had seen Jacob or Mathias. Jeremiah cursed himself and Solomon for not checking on Jacob earlier. Leaving Jacob alone after their argument was a huge mistake. At the time Jeremiah thought nothing of it, in fact welcomed the isolation. Now, as he rushed to Josey’s cabin, he had only one certainty, that his son had run away to rescue his black tart. Jeremiah wanted Josey to prove this fear wrong. Throwing open the cabin door in the late afternoon, Jeremiah and Solomon smelled the rancid vomit and the lingering smell of shit, even as he saw Josey heaving over a bucket. “Josey, where did Mathias and Jacob go?” demanded Jeremiah as he ignored her discomfort. Josey expected Solomon, but not Jeremiah. She turned from her bucket and wiped her mouth. In a weak but determined attempt to protect not only Jacob and Mathias, but also herself, Josey replied. “I’m sorry, master. I so sick, and it hard to think.” “Then get over it, child. I have no patience and am close to using a whip, something I swore never to do.” Josey’s eyes widened, especially when she saw Solomon standing behind Jeremiah, the lash in his hands. “Master, he does what you asked him to.” “Give me that, Solomon!” Jeremiah exclaimed as he loosened the leather snake. Josey screamed and heaved again, slumping back into her bed and wailing. “I’m sorry, master! Don’t! Please don’t! They going to Somerville to gets Nika. You know that. Don’t yeah? Jacob said youse was okay with it, providing he sells her.” “Come, Solomon. They have a day’s head start, but we can catch them at Magnolia Grove.” They left in a rush, leaving Josey to move her hand to her mouth, only to catch a heave coming on again. She returned to the bucket.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE After a hard ride from Fiery Hill to the bank in Huntsville, Jacob and Mathias almost killed their horses with a further dash to the Tennessee River. Jacob paid an exorbitant fee for two fresh mounts at the ferry. During the slower but deliberate trot after the ferry crossing Jacob told his friend the impossible, that Jikindi Muso had not left them. She had taken the form of a fox. Mathias did not laugh at what he thought a perplexing attempt at levity; but when Jacob waited for Mathias’ response, Mathias knew he was serious and remained silent. It was night before they approached Magnolia Grove. They tied their horses as the broken remnant of the strawberry moon at Muso’s death lay over the sleepy inhabitants. Within minutes the men checked each cabin but found no porchlighted oil lamp, its absence puzzling. The fox appeared from the woods. To Mathias’ astonishment she circled the cabins like a dog, sniffing the ground. Jacob told his friend they should follow. Mathias crossed himself but complied. The fox moved from the cabins and down the path toward the barn, streaking into a stall just inside the door where they discovered the comatose body of Juba. Nika was nowhere to be found. The fox’s head twisted in a tic and her tongue dripped saliva that caught the moonlight. Suddenly, she vaulted through the open barn door, going into a run. Jacob and Mathias followed, a cotton sack whipping behind Jacob’s back. In short time the trio emerged at the mansion, its front porch lit by torches. The fox slowed to a halt, but Jacob did not stop until reaching the porch. He was certain Nika was a captive within. His desire for surprise evaporated with that concern. “Nika! Nika!” Peter Spangler opened the front door, a tumbler of whiskey in his hands, his night shirt open, revealing his hairy chest. “I thought it would be a couple of weeks before you showed up.” “Why is she at the mansion?” 210

Shadow of The Conjurer “I should ask you the same.” “Mathias, go back to the horses. We’ll be there shortly.” “I’m quite happy with Nika. She’s not a house servant,” smirked Peter. Jacob ignored the comment. “Mathias, take this bag of provisions, and do as I ask.” Mathias took a tentative step, taking the bag from Jacob’s extended arm. Mathias hesitated, knowing his friend was in danger, but flinching as he and Peter Spangler touched eyes. “It’s okay,” said Jacob. Mathias walked off as the fox furtively faded behind a tree. Jacob turned to Spangler. “How did you know we were coming?” “Nika knew.” “I have father’s permission to buy her back.” Spangler sipped on the glass of liquor with the washed umber color of bourbon sparkling in the faint torchlight. “Is that so? Why would he do that? He accept your…inclinations?” “Yes.” “You must have been persuasive for Jeremiah to prepare the table for nigger grandkids.” Jacob wanted to swing at Spangler but knew that it was unsafe. “While my future does not include Nika as a wife, her future does not include you as master. He realized that for my mother to be happy, I had to be happy as well. Getting her away from you makes me happy.” “Then, this will come as a huge surprise for you. Nika has come to her senses as well. I thank you for breaking her in; but she chose a thoroughbred, not an emasculated plug like you.” “I want to hear that from Nika.” “I am here, Jacob.” Nika emerged from the parlor, dressed in one of Pamela’s night gowns. Jacob went to her side, pushing her behind him in protection. “Are you alright?” Nika kissed him deeply, pulling Jacob hungrily against her body, sculpting their shape into one. “Can’t you tell?” Jacob’s happiness soared with her response. “This will soon be over.” He turned in triumph to his nemesis. “I won’t sell her,” said Peter. “Then we leave without paying,” replied Jacob. 211

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE “Jacob, I’m not going.” Nika pulled from the young man and drew next to Peter Spangler. Shadow took Peter’s tumbler with familiarity. “My, my, but you do like my bourbon.” Peter stooped slightly to move the few inches to her lips for a satisfied peck after which they both turned to Jacob whose heart stopped beating. Jacob could not speak. “What has he done to you?” “Nothing, Jacob. I’m his nigger, body and soul. It’s better that way.” “No!” “Shh! You’ll wake my family,” replied Peter sarcastically. “I don’t care.” “They don’t care either,” laughed Peter. “What have you done to Nika?” Jacob bounced Peter against the porch walls. “Sugar, why do you think he did anything?” asked Nika. Jacob turned to face his lover, pushing Spangler again in the process. “Because this is not how I left you! You’re doing this to keep me away. He’s compelled you.” “No, Jacob. Could I do this if it was forced?” Nika eased up to Peter who took her in an embrace, she cupping his behind as he played her mouth like a ripe peach. Whether passion or not, Jacob did not try to understand, for it took less than passion to break Jacob. It took only her offer and Spangler’s acceptance. It was Nika that made Jacob strong. Only Nika could rust the fragile springs of his clock, could stop the timepiece that was his life. She was all he had. He thought himself all she had. He had not contemplated a rape of mind as the aftermath of rape of body. “You are trying to protect me so…stop,” Jacob said weakly, his body slumping against one of Magnolia Grove’s columns. He was prepared for bruises, for tears, but not this. Peter stooped onto one knee as he took Jacob’s chin in one hand. “You can still have her, Jacob, but on my terms.” Jacob searched Peter’s eyes for something human. He tore Peter’s hand from his face. “She is not my Nika. My Nika would not bend to you.” “Are you certain? I’m willing to give her to you. Just not in the way you asked.” Jacob stood and licked his lips, searching the woods and the weak light for friends. Seeing none, he returned his stare. “Jacob, I’m…different,” said Spangler. “Something in your eyes tells me you believe that. We can share.” 212

Shadow of The Conjurer “I will never share her with you, demon. “Demon?” “Yes, demon. Satan. Whatever you are, Pemba.” Spangler turned to Nika. “You did not let me know, sister.” He looked into Nika’s eyes, searching for answers before returning to Jacob. “She doesn’t remember telling you, Jacob. Where did you hear my name?” “From me, Master, as I do not wish to share you either, especially with young novices.” All eyes swiveled in the direction of the sound. Into the torchlight came Juba, no longer bound in a coma. “Well, well, surprises are swarming in every direction, are they not?” said Pemba. “Exactly when and how did you talk to young Jacob?” “He and his servant were sneaking around the cabins. Something in young Jacob triggered my awakening.” Juba stroked Peter’s arm with an arrogant posture that signaled her claims. “What can I say but that I used him to replete my energies. Jacob may not want to know that I wandered around in his mind and left a few nuggets, a little help for you.” “Did you send him to me?” “I knew his return was important. Are you upset?” “I don’t know yet. I guess it depends. I thought you were gone, but I guess I was wrong.” “Since everything is on the table, can I call you Pemba, master?” asked Juba. “I suppose so, but Peter is here too. I want Jacob to realize that he can be here also. After all, he desires a careful watch over his ebon inamorata. It does uncomplicate matters.” Pemba stole another quick kiss from his new mistress. “And you are so much pleasant than those fornicating little monsters you put in my dreams to scare me,” replied Nika. Jacob allowed her touch but was clearly confused as he examined his lover for some semblance of the woman he knew. “So, Jacob, if you want Nika, she is yours,” repeated Pemba. “I told you I would not share her, tempter.” “You wouldn’t, at least not in the way you think.” “And how would that be acceptable to either Nika or me?”

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE “If you understand I am different, you understand that I take body but share mind. Because I have your interests at heart, I relinquish Peter’s body to Juba. You and I would have one body to share with Nika. Always.” “I cannot go back to Fiery Hill and my father, not with Nika.” “Then don’t. Stay here. I am sure that Benjamin could use an overseer of your abilities. Peter would be in charge, at least ornamentally.” “No! Nika must leave with me. Jeremiah would not agree to my remaining here with her nearby, even at Benjamin’s behest, and certainly not by you. He despises you.” “Show some backbone, little man. Choose Nika, and you choose a safe road. But that road is not to New Orleans. Nika desires that no longer.” He paused for the knowledge he gleaned from Shadow to sink into Jacob, to show Jacob that nothing could be kept from Pemba. “You are lost without me, Jacob. It is my way or none. Excuse me. My mistake. You could slink back to your father without her. Maybe later, you could return for a taste of Shadow, assuming you take Pamela first. I might be tired of Nika by then.” “I will reach her. You have not turned her completely.” “Be glad I am patient with you. Be very very glad. I could take you without your agreement, but why? It destroys the mind within. You don’t want that. Choose. And be quick about it. I am tired of the banter. Choose us, and you will bed her within the hour.” Jacob’s confidence was slipping away. Events required changing his plans. He stuck his hand in his waistcoat and stroked the bone grip of the double-barreled pocket pistol he bought in Huntsville. Then, he looked not at Peter, but at Nika, wondering if Pemba was right, that he could never bring her back. If Nika was in there, she did not recognize her chance. Jacob would have accepted any signal. She did not have to ask for his help. Even a flash of fear would have brought out the small but deadly pistol. What Jacob saw was empty opportunity. Three predators stared at him, awaiting his decision. Jacob hardened, his composure accepting his fate. As he now saw it, his first shot would take the most physical and dangerous enemy. Jacob would have gratification from that, even if he hanged for Peter’s death. He could not go back. Nika must be his. All action seemed to slow as Jacob’s hand tightened on the pistol. It emerged from one dark place to another. His arm straightened and spasmed upwards toward Spangler’s face, jerking with a slight up and down motion in the faint light. A glance at Spangler and Nika reflected their surprise and reaction as Jacob’s finger tightened on one of the triggers. Unexpectedly, only a click sounded as the firing pin clapped onto a dead chamber, the roar of the gun failing without the ignition of gunpowder. 214

Shadow of The Conjurer Nika’s smile disappeared into an angry scowl. “You limp-dicked simpleton!” Spangler pushed away from Nika and moved his hands into a circle which mimicked a strangler’s reach for a soon to be broken neck. Jacob’s Nika was gone. Something else, something foreign remained, and she would not be Pemba’s using Jacob’s body. As Spangler’s hands shimmered and purple sparks materialized within their cuddled clasp to open the portal to another universe, Jacob’s arm folded; and the pistol moved to his own temple. Juba’s despairing shout emerged the moment Jacob pulled the second trigger. Her shout of “I am Jikindi!” echoed through the porch concurrently with the report from the pistol. The body of Jacob fell, too late to react differently, too late for regrets. Only gore and blood welcomed Jikindi’s declaration as both spurted from the opening in his temple onto her cotton dress. “Oh, Mangala, save me!” said Jikindi Juba. Spontaneously, a crackle was heard as a wave of energy emerged around Spangler’s body, causing Jikindi to turn toward the threat. “You should have hid. Come to hell, Mandingo bitch!” Magnolia Grove-Ten minutes into the past

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s soon as he felt the dark around him, Mathias ran. It was not enough that he followed a fox; but that man, that had to be Peter Spangler, the enemy. Mathias swore that as the man looked at him (a smirk hiding what?) that the man’s eyes flooded momentarily in purple. Mathias had courage of a rare man. But he was unprepared as the figure unfolded from the dark. A slave. It was the comatose woman from the barn, no longer asleep. “I’m friend, Mathias. For Jacob’s sake, hold!” Mathias stopped and panted, bending to catch his breath, his hands on his knees and the fear of so many impossible images almost causing him to retch. Juba touched his shoulder. “That man is the demon, not me. I am your friend, Muso.” Mathias backed away, wishing for an amulet, anything as protection. “I buried you!” “My body, yes. I took the fox. Now I take this empty woman. I need your help. Your bag hides a weapon.” 215

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Mathias took quick gulps of air but could not move, frozen by lack of preparedness, struggling with disbelief. “Quick! We have no time.” Jikindi Juba grabbed the cotton sack from his shoulder and opened the drawstrings, pulling out the leather bag. She removed a large and evil looking thorn from the bag, its length shimmering hard and shiny. She pulled from her pocket a long and pointed steel tool, a pritchel, used to punch holes in red-hot horseshoes. Jikindi laid the thorn parallel with the punch. She wound cotton thread around and around the fused tool and thorn. Jikindi Juba pulled a small mallet from her dress and placed it and the weapon in Mathias’ clammy hands. “Take these.” Jikindi clamped his hands tightly within her own, calm in her eyes. “I know you are afraid, Mathias. But we can succeed only if you do exactly as I say, no matter how hard or how fearful. If you do not do this, repercussions will be much worse.” Mathias nodded, the corner of his lip trembling in the moonlight. “This demon uses Peter Spangler because Peter Spangler allows it. I cannot banish Pemba, the demon we face, unless we kill Peter Spangler.” Mathias’ eyes grew wide. He shook his head as the sweat poured from his brow, the breath sticking in his throat, his diaphragm unable to move. Jikindi Juba grabbed Mathias’ shoulders, her eyes hardening and grinding into his with determination. “Evil cannot be ignored, or it grows, Mathias. This is a war, and our friends are lost without you. We die, instead of Spangler.” Mathias’ posture seemed to wilt slightly; but his eyes still registered fear, understandable but unacceptable. “God gives us strength. Will it to be so, Mathias. Require it. Ask for His protection.” “But I be flayed and then hung, if not burned alive.” Jikindi used punctuation and certainty. “No, Mathias. No. I have influences that you cannot imagine. I am conjurer, a sorcerer, a body switcher. You know me. I will stand.” “How will you do it?” “I will distract Peter Spangler, then I will act. When I do, my body and Peter Spangler’s will collapse to the ground in a faint. When that happens, take this spike and thorn and insert it into Peter’s ear. You will hear me in your head. When I tell you and only when I tell you, drive it through his skull with the mallet. Do you understand?” “But none of us are safe if we be seen, Muso.” 216

Shadow of The Conjurer “Believe in me because you have seen my magic. I will not act until it is safe. Let me in your mind, so we hear each other’s thoughts. And when I call, strike without hesitation.” “Why can’t Jacob do this?” “Because he is not here to take direction. I will not have time to talk to him. I do my part elsewhere. That leaves you as our only choice.” “But if this demon so powerful, he find you out.” “He may, but he is also supremely arrogant. He will believe what he wants to see. Follow me and stay in the shadows.”

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX “You should have hid. Come to hell, Mandingo bitch!” The energy wave flew from Spangler’s hands and engulfed Jikindi. It split Juba’s body from Jikindi’s astral self, blowing Juba’s body off the porch as Jikindi’s separated spirit plunged through a portal that suddenly materialized in the air. As Jikindi blinked out of the physical world, Nika gripped Pemba’s broad shoulders from behind. Her hair blew backwards from a second blast of purple light springing from her lord and master. Their bodies fell backward onto the porch; and their spirits vanished into the void with Jikindi, her cover blown, her soul vulnerable. For the more powerful spirit the taste of revenge was sweet as once inside The Infinitesimal he captured her essence and overpowered her. Jikindi floated in the spectral darkness within a green globe of pulsing energy. She was asleep, shifting her astral shapes in a dream from her many experiences. Over and surrounding Jikindi’s globe was the purple globe of Pemba with Nika at his side, giants towering over the small but vivid green globe. Nika appeared in awe of Pemba, a demon who seemed much larger when his confidence was stoked by success. “Your grandmother was a great witch, powerfully connected to my sister. How does one spit in the face of such a gift?” “She was short-sighted, master.” “To say the least! All she had to do was ask for my forgiveness. I would have thanked Jikindi for pulling me here. The gifts of this land are so different, so exquisite.” “Maybe for you. Teach me to take bodies like my grandmother, so I may enjoy these gifts as well.” “Jikindi fooled me in Mande Faro. I believed she had resolved her own death. How do I know you will not be equally treacherous, young one?” 218

Shadow of The Conjurer “I am open to you. Have you found treachery?” “But child, the ability to betray is still asleep within you. Betrayal is difficult to overcome though at my heart I am a gracious benefactor to those who do me well.” “Jacob’s death did not affect me. I am yours. Yours alone.” Pemba had not yet tired of worship. “I suppose you think so. I cannot imagine replacing my Koroni or Jikindi. With both gone, you raise your value. In a universe without either, you are at least valuable for your reminder of victory. No one else can be that for me.” “What happened to Juba?” “Your grandmother destroyed her soul. Jikindi’s soul now anchors it. After I erase what is left of your grandmother, Juba’s body will die and return to the soil of Magnolia Grove. I like that ruthlessness of your grandmother. She is a warrior in a female form, like my sister.” “You did not answer me. Show me how to take another. I will accept pleasure in whatever form pleases you.” “You are a slave, Nika. I like this America, but it does not appreciate you. We should use Peter’s sister Pamela in our travels. Brother and sister bodies will at least give me solace in the absence of my sister. Twins would be even better. I would have beautiful ones.” “I will live up to your gift.” “Then destroy any illusion she kept you from me.” “And how will I do that?” “Give her a believable lie for her dreams.” Jikindi Remembers (A.D. 1830 - Niger, Africa - The Sub Saharan)

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ikindi had tragedies in her life, and the demise of Mande Faro was one of the most horrible. She shook from the attempt to leave the dream.

Baaku Bandeh raised his hand toward Jikindi and Nika, grinning in mirth. “I come to you next, Nika. Jikindi will not stop me. She prefers the finality of her brother Malinke to these slavers of Allah!”

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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Jikindi pushed Shadow behind her at Baaku Bandeh’s challenge. Jikindi reached for the bag at her waist, untying the looped top without moving her gaze from Baaku. Baaku laughed. “Oh, Jikindi. Do you really believe your gris-gris has any power? One suffers. We all suffer! You cannot change our fates. Mangala abandoned us long ago.” Jikindi ignored the taunts. She took powder from the bag and called out to the heavens, “Mangala! Nika ding dandang (Protect your child, Shadow). Pemba a-a (No Pemba)! Pemba a-a (No Pemba)! Kujua a-a (No evil)!” Then she threw the powder in the air and grabbed the arm of her granddaughter, exiting the area quickly. Shadow turned back for a last glance. Though the thick smoke hazed the scene, she saw the powder sparkling and shimmering, the air congealing around Pemba in its descent. Pemba Baaku Bandeh stood behind in the hut. He pointed at Shadow. “Go! Go meet your fate, little Muso Koroni!” Shadow turned away as the flaming ceiling of the hut fell around Baaku. She had no time for sympathy. She did not want to lose her grandmother. Jikindi ran unobstructed to the fenced edge of the village where she looked for a weakness in the woven limbs of the fence. When she discovered one, she used her bulk to push it outward and create a two-foot break, large enough for her to squeeze through and Shadow to follow. She pointed to the jungle fifty yards away and moved as quickly as her large body would allow in stiff long strides, her bare fat bottom bouncing like a yo-yo beneath her torn loincloth. They hid behind a tree while Jikindi surveyed the area. “Mamaw, you are tired. We should have gone by way of the river. Not this way.” “No, child. The slavers came in boats. This way is safer. We will go in a moment when I catch my breath.” Shadow sat next to her grandmother. “Grandfather Baaku called me little Muso Koroni.” “I told you to forget that.” “But he frightened me.” Jikindi stroked Shadow’s arm. “This will help.” Jikindi pulled a bag and thong from her loincloth. “No matter what happens, keep this bag close to you. It is your protection. It is your power.” Jikindi began weaving the leather thong and bag into Shadow’s hair. “The powder is made by powerful Malinke mystics. And the sacred powder is joined with an Acacia thorn, long, thick, and deadly. Strike Grandfather Baaku or whatever body Pemba inhabits. Strike him for blood if not death. It will take him away.” Nika nodded. 220

Shadow of The Conjurer “Come. The quicker we are gone from this place, the quicker we can rest. It will be dark soon, and we must shelter from the beasts.” “I thought you were tired.” “I was until I saw how courageous you are. You give me strength, my Shadow.” They inched their way from Mande Faro. Though they could not see the village, they could smell and see the smoke rising above the trees of the forest. Jikindi angled toward a trail she knew would lead them to fellow Mande tribesmen several miles away. A footpath broke ahead. Shadow hit the trail in a jump, turning and hopping feverishly with her hands held triumphantly in the air. “We are here, mamaw. We are here!” Ahead in a bend several turbaned riders also emerged. They led a group of bound women, children, and a few men, all mostly naked, but each group tied to long poles from which every few feet a single individual was noosed by the neck. Jikindi motioned for Shadow to return to the security of the jungle, but the child did not see the riders. Seconds of exposure was all it took for the riders to charge after them. “Run, Nika, run!” shouted Jikindi. Two dove from their animals and wrestled Jikindi to the ground. But poor Shadow could not leave her grandmother to these men. She returned and fought, raining furious blows against their captors. When that did not work, she bit one, then the other. One of the huge men stopped wrestling Jikindi and sideswiped Shadow in a vicious cuff that threw the girl against a thorny mimosa tree. This time it was Shadow who screamed as one of the sharp thorns pierced her hand. Resistance was futile, and for a moment Jikindi lost her nerve, crying out in teary loss, not for herself, but for the wasted efforts she made to save her granddaughter. Jikindi knew she was all that stood between hopelessness or hope for Nika. As Jikindi was bound, the other slaver grabbed Shadow who continued to scream from the pain of the large thorn. The man pulled out a knife and before Jikindi’s heart could stop from fear, simply pulled the knife’s edge up into the thorn and ripped it from the girl’s hand. Placing the knife between his lips, he then bound Shadow with a thin rope and flipped her over his back. Jikindi followed the man in submission and was kicked in the back by the second man as she moved toward the stalled group. It took only a moment for Jikindi to realize that they were returning to the flaming village of Mande Faro. 221

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX The captives were mostly quiet. They were allowed a quick meal with their rope cuffs awaiting its completion. Jikindi’s group of newly-made slaves were near their watchdogs, three huge black slavers with scowling demeanors. They used keen blades and long flintlock muskets to keep the captives in place. The women were much younger than Jikindi. An especially beautiful and pitiful damsel sat and trembled next to her, even urinating on herself, refusing to eat the porridge lying in a clay bowl at her feet. The poor woman’s totem scars were awash with tears as she repeated over and over her child was dead. Her mad eyes alternately rolled back into her head, then rolled forward bloodshot with despair. She moved finally to fatigue and hopelessness, laying in the dirt, spit and foam sometimes dribbling from her mouth. One of the slavers pointed to Jikindi, or at least that was who Shadow thought the man was pointing. Jikindi pressed a finger to her mouth for silence. Shadow nodded, but below the surface her heart trembled. Shadow’s quick little mind saw the anomaly. Her grandmother was the only elder in the group of women, in fact the only elder in all of the hostages. In quick succession she remembered the dead bodies they encountered upon their return to Mande Faro, many her friends, even family. Shadow remembered dead infants and no live infants…dead elders and no live elders. Dead elders. No live elders. Nika screamed. “Not my Mamaw!” She cried in anguished racking sobs. The surrounding area suddenly froze. Even the fire stopped in mid-flame. Pemba Baaku, covered in gray patches of ash and blisters, emerged from the darkness, drawing a long rusty knife, still sharp and wicked. He approached Jikindi who gasped as Pemba slid it over the rope and cut her bonds. “Jikindi Bandeh, you who were reborn should not forget your roots. You are faithless and unworthy of your past. I shall ensure your robe is carried to another generation.” “One time Baaku accepted my beliefs; but he forgot, not I. Take me but pass Nika.” Pemba Baaku paused in reflection, peering into the eyes of Jikindi Bandeh, hand molded around the rusty tip of the knife. While Jikindi watched closely, Baaku walked to the frozen form of Shadow. Standing behind the girl, he cut her bonds as well. As the last strand fell to the ground, Pemba Baaku pointed the knife at Jikindi in reinforcement. “You worshiped me once! Yet, you would let Nika fall into the hands of these men? Do you really believe slavery a better life than with me?” Jikindi’s eyes sparkled as she took a step closer, her tone becoming suggestive. Her voice formed a huskiness and lushness born of experience. “Pemba, you have not forgotten 222

Shadow of The Conjurer our time together, nor your pleasures. The old and practiced is better than young and unbent.” Pemba laughed as the slavers remained untouched by time, as the very flames of the fire seemed as wooden as those painted on canvas. Jikindi’s hand reached for Pemba Baaku, and she wrapped her arms around his quivering frame. “Jikindi, do not try to deceive me. Muso Koroni no longer uses your vessel. Your cunt is dry and good only for rasping the skins from old sausages, not for rapturing the heat of a king.” Jikindi struck. Her hand encircled the knife and nimbly moved it from Baaku’s grasp. In the next instant she used her bulk to slam him to the ground where she fell on his body, straddling him. Jikindi pressed the knife to his throat and emitted a high-pitched squeal, the sound of which crescendoed through the air, causing an eerie melting of the frozen area. The very air seemed to take on the substance of a translucent mirror, shimmering as if water spilled over its side. Then the air hardened and cracked around them. The next moment, the slavers moved as reality returned. Jikindi held his throat to the ground with her left forearm and with the right hand sliced through the cartilage of Baaku’s throat, releasing a fountain of blood and gore. Jikindi raised her head and turned to Shadow. “Run, child!” The slaver’s spears tore into her body. Jikindi’s mouth vomited blood as her head slammed to the ground cheek to cheek with her dead brother. Shadow obeyed. She ran from the river and ran some more. As the life ebbed from Jikindi’s body, her eyes twinkled with a green phosphorescence tipped in gold. The next instant the unusual color blew out of her eyes in a haze-tinged flare, puffs of green smoke or fog collecting in their reservoirs. Bubbles of blood dripped from her lips to the ground in a steady but slow dribble. Then, as if catching up, Jikindi’s eyes returned to hollow sticky remains and a blank stare of death. Along the jungle floor crept the green fog toward the woman with the scar tattoos of dots and lines. In minutes Nika came again to the dead village of Mande Faro. Without her protector she was afraid, looking for guidance that did not come. She turned back toward her path of escape and looked through the red-tinged and smoky air. The glimpse made her swoon. She was followed. Nika stumbled. Stumbled and fainted as the world turned darker.

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ikindi had no time for polite entreaties. She blew open the door to the mind of the woman. The woman’s soul was in full retreat. Jikindi had hoped to counsel 223

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX her for what to expect and that she would return to give the woman’s body back. It was unnecessary. The woman’s soul was already lost, laying on its backside, eyes frantic in unseeing fear. Her spirit hands and legs waved madly for a touch and connection she could not find. She looked like a mad upturned beetle. The lost soul created her own nascent but sickly energy, a spectral cocoon, the appendages blurring into a blob of mucousy yellow light. Jikindi reached into the faint energy bubble and touched it with her hand. Immediately, the conjurer’s green signature beeped on and off of the woman. Jikindi shouted an oath, promising to return the woman to her child. Jikindi Muso opened her new eyes, ready to protect Nika. The woman with the scar tattoos ran from the clearing, slaves and slavers moving about in chaos. The women wailed, and the children cried. Muso evaporated into the dark night, a slaver close behind her, his hands whipping back in forth as he ran with a saber, trying to keep up with the young pantheress. Jikindi Muso knew her granddaughter would go to Mande Faro, but Pemba Baaku’s sudden appearance gave her no time to recover the talisman. Muso could outrun the slaver, but that was not her concern. Her fear was the possibility Pemba would reach Nika before her. Though it was dark and the slaver was fast on her heels, Jikindi Muso was familiar with the paths in the forest around Mande Faro. Familiarity and darkness won over. By the time she reached the village she had pulled away, knowing she had only moments before he caught up with her. Guided by the glowing embers of the dead village, she moved from hut to hut until she heard the grunts and groans rising in front of her. She quietly peered through the smoke and reddish light. A man in the throes of sex lay missionary style on his diminutive partner…Nika. Jikindi Muso braced for urgent action, but her brain slowed as she registered the small hand reaching behind the slaver for his dagger, grabbing it, and thrusting upward into his vitals. Muso was surprised at Nika’s warrior control of the situation. She watched in fascination as Nika pushed the dead slaver from her body. But the pleasant wave of excitement was cut short as a momentary purple flare corniced her granddaughter’s eyes. Jikindi had not beat Pemba to Nika’s side. Jikindi Muso retreated, her choices limited. Desperation had one path. If she was successful, Pemba would not know who took Nika or to where. The possessed Nika had knifed the rapist. Jikindi had to gamble the slaver’s death imminent, the soul removed to an unfulfilled reward from a life conducted falsely. If she gambled correctly, fleeting moments remained before his bodily death when she could manipulate the soulless vessel. Her eyes closed in the darkness. A small puff of green phosphorescent smoke emerged from the tight 224

Shadow of The Conjurer eyelids, closed to prevent Pemba from seeing the light. With Muso’s body vacated by Jikindi’s spirit, it slid to the dirt along the mud wall of the hut, flopping unceremoniously to its side. Jikindi’s spirit emerged by the dying slaver who lay behind Nika. A haze of green fog surrounded the body and moved into the void of his soul, the slaver’s bloodstained garment and his orifices seemingly sucking in the fog as if a vacuum was inside. Jikindi knew she had little time. Her pain was sharp, debilitating at her side and in her vitals. Yet she rose in the new body and stumbled forward to her attack. As Jikindi softly mumbled the words to open the portal that would take Pemba, the small demoness turned in the smoky haze to her grandmother, glee filling her eyes. “Grandmother, taste my knife and end this folly.”

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emba and Dark Nika watched in satisfaction as Jikindi’s spirit form shuddered. Soon Jikindi would break.

Jikindi briefly unfocused in a fluttering of energy. It concluded with the return of her stiff astral body. In Pemba’s haste he had not prepared for Jikindi’s mental control which, even in Pemba’s nightmare, was strong. Like falling from a cliff in a dream ends a nightmare, Jikindi awoke immediately to the dangerous lie. That night long ago was quite different than Pemba’s reimagined dream.

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Jikindi Escapes (A.D. 1830 - Niger, Africa - The Sub Saharan)

ikindi Muso could imprison Pemba only by killing Nika with the thorn. That ugly and tricky path was unacceptable. She gathered her powers into a tight ball of energy and called on Mangala, even her liege Muso Koroni, to blast Pemba to another time and another place. Pemba would find his way back, but hopefully it would not be in Jikindi Muso’s lifetime. The slaver’s body pushed up from the dusty dirt, swaying as if drunk, staggering with loss of blood, the liver and kidneys mangled, the heart losing function as the nicked aorta pumped blood into his cavity. With a slow rise of his hands Jikindi silently mouthed words controlling the portals between worlds, and the air shimmered green with life. It was this green that caused the possessed Nika to turn around from twenty feet in front. Pemba could not stop the energy leaving the slaver in a powerful pulse. The energy merged with 225

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Nika’s body, focusing only on Pemba, pushing him from her body, and taking him before he could react. Pemba was pushed to the spirit world where Jikindi’s spell bounced him back and forth, never stopping long enough for Pemba to recapture his balance until a point in the future where Jikindi’s spell seemed to lose steam. The demon’s anger exploded in a vaporizing light that immediately opened the portal back to Mother Earth, but to an unfamiliar Earth. The scents led Pemba back to Mande Faro. What he did not understand immediately was his destination was an empty village overgrown with vegetation. Time only allows movement forward, so he returned to a ruin five years into the future. From there, ephemeral scent turned Pemba to an Atlantic Coast, where years before, Muso and Nika were baptized to cruelty, stuffed into a dark ship owned by smugglers heading to the Caribbean, their illegal load of slaves worth the trouble to men without compassion. It was easy enough to snatch a body going west to the land called America. Jikindi’s scent grew as he tread north, enjoying new experiences along the way, new food, new drink, and new women. Pemba dawdled in pleasure because he knew she was alive. His revenge could simmer, even as a foggy night’s encounter with a drunken Peter Spangler awaited his use.

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Shadow of The Conjurer

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN The Infinitesimal

Jikindi’s eyes opened briefly before green fireworks lit The Infinitesimal and blinded Pemba and Dark Nika. In that moment she escaped. When the light and fog cleared, Pemba’s spirit form transformed into a purple energy ball, a jellyfish-like globe, upon which suddenly popped a thousand eyes looking in all directions of the spirit universe. One found Jikindi and the other eyes swayed in her direction, focusing a bright ray of power that captured her spectral body. Peter Pemba Spangler returned instantly, hovering next to Jikindi with a raised fist, barely containing murderous intent to wipe Jikindi’s soul from The Infinitesimal. “For you to escape so often, a part of me must like you, even as I hate you.” Pemba seemed to study Jikindi, maybe jealously. She could not reply so he eased the mental chain. “Tell me why I should not destroy you as you destroyed the sister I knew?” “I don’t know that you can ever be open to reason.” “Reason? Reason, Jikindi? I am old yet always young. Why does the seduction in my immortality, my willingness to give you my benefit, not keep you? And why am I evil when gift is granted in the face of the love you stole from me? Am I not generous?” “I did not destroy the Koroni you knew. Your sister changed from self-absorbed phantom. She left the vacuum of ideals that is Pemba. And I am happy I had something to do with that.” “You do not understand us. You believe the coupling of your minds gives you privilege. I spit on your privilege. Your goddamned deceit. She will no longer deny me!” Nika’s red eyes became opaque as Pemba loosened control to focus on Jikindi. 227

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN “It is not that we are male or female,” reasoned Jikindi. “You misread our differences as an excuse for your own shortcomings.” “And you forget what makes you special. It is your body, not your mind. It is what Mangala, if he exists, forgot in my creation. My only defect. You and Baaku Bandeh brought my Koroni and me together unlike any before you. Powerful twins you were. Then, you broke that trust. You cannot be with her as I can. I am incomplete without with my sister.” “Your completeness was without compassion. Your sister acknowledged her betrayal of Mangala, and it changed who she was.” “Mangala does not speak to me or my sister. You speak with honey of His grandiosity when in fact He left us when He became bored.” Pemba’s astral image blurred in anger before congealing back to his comfortable form, his Peter Spangler. “I have only myself. I curse Mangala for giving me a twin that I cannot forget. Women are all treacherous, even my sister, and especially you, Jikindi.” “We need each other. Don’t do this evil…my brother.” Pemba spat at Jikindi, hating his weakness, seeking control again, needing to see Jikindi’s fear of a soul’s death before finishing her. Demon mouth opened in fiendish glee. His head warped to a misshapen monster of foulest corruption, slimily dripping poison from the wreckage of his horrific face as the bright globe held within his taloned and spindly hand drove downward for the butcher’s blow. “Go away, Jikindi! Nika will follow after I have finished with her.” At this juncture Jikindi dropped all reason and pretense, shouting into Mathias’ mind. “Do it now, Mathias! Do it now!” Magnolia Grove-Two minutes into the past.

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athias did as Jikindi Juba directed and waited in the shadows, from concealment listening to, but not observing the discussion.

“Wait! I am Jikindi Muso!” The loud report of a pistol boiled through the trees. Mathias left the safety of the tree trunk to watch in horror as his friend collapsed amid a soft glaze of smoke. The pistol dropped from Jacob’s hands and tottered down the steps of the porch. “Oh, Mangala, save me!” Jikindi shouted. 228

Shadow of The Conjurer Mathias watched the demon in a white man’s body shimmer and saw the crackle of purple energy emerging around Spangler’s body. “You should have hid. Come to hell, Mandingo bitch!” Mathias watched helplessly and in disbelief as the energy wave flew from Spangler’s hands and engulfed Jikindi, and the three bodies fell to the ground. But his concern for Jacob and Jikindi broke fear. Mathias ran to the porch. Although the still form of his friend along with Nika and Spangler was splayed haphazardly on the porch, he did not hesitate. With tears streaming from his face, Mathias opened the cotton sack and removed the thorn-adorned pritchel as well as the mallet. His hands trembled as the weapon was placed within the ear of Spangler’s still form. “Muso, tell me quick because if you don’t, I will do it anyway!” Mathias wiped away his tears with the cotton sleeve of his dirty and sweat-filled shirt. “Do it now, Mathias!” the telepathic messenger exclaimed to Mathias’ entreaty. With a sharp and forceful rap the thorn entered, even as Jikindi’s message was completed. The thorn’s pritchel horse broke the bone behind the eardrum. Peter’s blood spilled over the thorn’s shiny mantle, causing a secondary explosion of green light to emerge from the thorn’s core. The light illuminated the mucousy insides of Peter’s ear. In the next instant, the pritchel split the ear, widening Spangler’s ear passage and splaying the green-lit insides against the iron tool, further washing the blood up the stem of the thorn. Peter Spangler’s body registered nothing and neither did his empty soul as the pritchel mashed and spit brains and blood from the hole in Peter’s head. The body died. The Infinitesimal

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he bubble of Jikindi’s protective green blanket fluttered and then cracked at the touch of the poisonous energy of Pemba. Jikindi cried out in the pain of her soul splitting apart. This is the end she thought. But that thought stretched into a question of ‘what’ and then ‘why’ before her spirit eyes opened in search and observation. Instead of a purple flood within her sinking green ship, the cracks repaired themselves. Jikindi stared through the lifting haze into the kaleidoscope universe of The Infinitesimal. She was briefly astonished before elation took its hold. Pemba was frozen in consternation, his fist twinkling but stretching backwards from another counter weight, the poisonous sorcery diluted and losing its hold on Jikindi’s 229

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN soul. His gigantic image briefly wavered as if the monster teetered on an event horizon of a black hole, before falling into its hold. The look of panic now taking Pemba was delicious to Jikindi. She pulled from his influence to bend, twist, and stretch, enabling senses to recover her astral form. Pemba’s demonic visage popped in a strobe-like effect, switching to Peter Spangler and back to Pemba, back and forth, forth and back, each face registering similar inability to control the epileptic fit of transformation. As the stuttering and interchanging form receded, Nika’s opaque eyes began to clear with her separation from her puppeteer. “Mamaw?” Nika asked as eyes and mind reasserted her memories. Nika shrank hand in hand with her returning sanity, the split in her personality repairing as if the camera in her mind sharpened its image, even as the edges remained frayed and blurred. Pemba struggled against the chains drawing him down. His face was cloudy and dark, not in fear, but in anger. The spell of his powerful sister, Muso Koroni, tore at his monstrous image, scattering pieces of Pemba that tore outward to fly away into a spinning rift in the spirit universe. Even as he slowly dissolved at the pull of the Acacia Thorn, Pemba struck out and pounded at the edge of the incantation’s form, the strikes releasing small explosions accompanied by crackling purple lightning. His form stretched and elasticized out of proportion as Pemba struggled. With a boom of a pressure wave, Pemba’s outstretched talon broke the bond of the spell and reached into the void. Jikindi turned from her granddaughter toward her enemy. Nika did not, the wooziness in her return to normalcy still holding her. The terrible hand of the monster elongated toward Nika, the appendage folding into twitching claws seeking a hold. Jikindi acted, the protective blanket surrounding her astral body expanding like a balloon filling with air to transform into the green globe she used to travel within The Infinitesimal. Her hands instantly twirled and dissolved into the inner globe of power. She closed her eyes and began the ether spell. “Nge dingo kanno, Mangalala an Koronila (I love the child, Mangala and Koroni). Fara noro aning dibbo (Split light and darkness). Bette an kujua (good and evil). Jino an maleika (demon and angel). Nika dandang (Protect Shadow).” As Pemba’s outstretched arm grabbed Nika, her eyes went opaque once again; and the wicked smile of the possessed corniced the side of her mouth. As Nika mouthed the word ‘master’, Jikindi’s telepathic entreaty burst into her globe. “Nge salle Allala Mangalala (I pray to God Mangala). Alsi Mari tentu (Praise the Lord).” 230

Shadow of The Conjurer In the next instant a blinding flash of green light conquered the ethereal cold surrounding the combatants. It evaporated as fast as it appeared. Left behind in the kaleidoscope universe was Jikindi holding a sleeping but peaceful semblance of Nika the child. Retreating faster into the swirl was the hand of Pemba enclosed around Nika’s twin, the smiling figure of Dark Nika, this time not only the split of personalities, but the split of a soul. Both Pemba and the asundered Nika were absorbed into the swirling vortex of the spell of Muso Koroni. Pemba broke one last telepathic retort. “Jikindi, presume your safety, but in your burrow you know I will come. Hide your Nika in a deep hole, conjurer. You will never have power enough to reconnect her and save your granddaughter!” A ghostly Pemba brought his evil bride close to his slumbering breast and winked out of the astral multi-verse and into his cell.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT Magnolia Grove-Jeremiah Returns

Mathias dropped the mallet, his eyes wide at the blood spray and fine bits of moist brain tissue dotting the fleshy edge of his hands and wrists. He saved Jikindi; but the force of the stroke left their terrible reminder that he had killed a man, even if it held a demon. Mathias wanted to scream, but knew he could not. He felt as if he had touched a leper. He turned frantically side to side for anyone who might have watched, hoping for Muso but willing to take Jacob rising from the dead. No friendly face was available to provide direction or calm. In his hysteria he lost his balance on the edge of the porch and fell backward onto the lawn. At impact he tore clumps of grass and dirt in a mad spin of arms and legs that sought to scrape Peter’s blood and brains from his hands. Mathias’ mouth sputtered a high-pitched squeal as he righted himself. In the next moment his breath caught in his throat. The head on the porch was corniced in light from the patio sconces, her face hidden by shadows generated from the background light of the oil lamps, an angel in appearance. “Nika? I’m…I’m Mathias.” “Of course you are. I am Muso. Get up here before the others arrive.” Mathias hesitated, body switching muddying his willingness. “Muso? You were Juba.” “I was, but now I am Nika.” “Then where is Nika?” “Hiding until she is ready to return.” “What happened to Juba?” 232

Shadow of The Conjurer “It does not matter. All that remains is her shell. Now hurry! And call me Nika when the others arrive. Do not call me Muso!” “Is the demon gone?” “Yes, but our human problems remain. Did I not say ‘hurry’?” Mathias pulled himself to his feet, mounting the patio in one bound. “Pull the spike from Peter Spangler’s head.” Mathias crouched to Spangler’s dead form and pulled at the pritchel and thorn. It came free after a few energetic tugs. Spangler’s head flopped from the exercise, lazily splatting to the planks and dripping blood from the wound. Mathias handed the spike to Jikindi Nika, careful to avoid the congealing blood. Jikindi unwrapped the thorn and wiped the pritchel clean. “Now retrieve the pistol on the ground. Remove the bullet that failed. Throw the bullet and the pritchel into the woods.” Mathias complied. After a few moments he returned to Nika for further commands. “Place the gun in Jacob’s hands.” “Muso, they will believe Jacob killed Peter Spangler.” “Nika. Nika is my name. And yes, they will believe Jacob killed him. But Jacob doesn’t care anymore. If he did, he would direct the same. Someone has to take the blame. You and I cannot.” “I don’t understand…Nika.” “We cannot run away. If we leave, they will blame us, instead of Jacob. So like it or not, Mathias, we stay and wait for what happens if nothing more than to guide their assumptions. Watch for my lead. Jeremiah will hate Nika even more. I do not know what to expect.” Mathias nodded in compliance. “The residents of the house are fuzzy from Pemba’s influence. We wait for them to emerge as their minds clear.” Within an hour Jikindi as Nika and Mathias were tied to rings in the barn where they quietly prepared for Jeremiah. “I pulled some papers from Jacob’s coat, Nika. They must be important, but I cannot read.” “Let me see them. Jacob taught Nika and me to read. I was proud of him for taking that gamble.” “Wish he took time for me, but I guess his hands full.” 233

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT “It was long ago.” With some difficulty Mathias took the papers from his waistcoat and handed them to Jikindi. Jikindi did her best to flatten and turn the papers. There were several pages, and it took her some time before she finished. “Hmm. Interesting. Jacob wrote about Magnolia Grove. Why did he record it?” “He has a journal that he left with Miss Sarah, except for these pages.” “Sarah? Does she know Jacob came here?” “Yes’m, but we got away clean…until this. What are you going to do about them words?” “Nothing for now. They speak to me. You must keep them safe. After we get to Fiery Hill, I’ll decide what to do.”

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eremiah and Solomon rode swiftly down the mansion drive of Magnolia Grove, the hard rap of hooves against cobblestone hiding the wails of women inside the house. Jeremiah left his reins unattended for Solomon’s attention and bolted up the mansion steps, overlooking the bloodstained planks on the porch in his hurry. Benjamin Spangler stood at attention beside two sheet-draped bodies. His face was a transparent message of discomfort and grief. Cicero stood in the corner to meet the family’s needs. “What happened?” Jeremiah demanded. Benjamin shook his head, the words caught in his mouth before sputtering as his hand pointed to the bodies. “Peter is dead.” “Peter?” said Jeremiah just as he saw the exposed boot of the nearer body, a boot he recognized as the ones Sarah had specially crafted for Jacob’s eighteenth birthday. His initials were etched into the arch of the boot. A tinge of anguish was suppressed with anger as Jeremiah realized that Jacob died for the ebon harlot. That was the only thought that rose to color his response. “A duel?” Jeremiah asked plainly, hope for something other than murder behind the calm response. Benjamin shook his head. “Not if your servants are correct. They are the only witnesses, except for Juba. She says nothing. Some kind of catalepsy.” “Where are my slaves?” 234

Shadow of The Conjurer “Tied in the barn. I don’t want your Negress any longer, Jeremiah. Take her back with you. And take your son. He killed my Peter and avoided the hanging he deserved.” Jeremiah bent down to look under the sheet, emotion and a retort absent in the examination. “You got here quickly. How did you find out?” asked Benjamin. “Peter didn’t kill Jacob?” “No! I told you, Jacob shot Peter. Then he killed himself. Your son will be damned forever. I’m glad.” “Where are their pistols?” “Just that one.” Benjamin pointed to the table next to the sofa. “Are you sure Peter did not shoot Jacob and then himself?” “My son had everything, wanted everything. A man like that would not kill himself. Besides, we found the pistol in Jacob’s hand. And Peter had none.” “Are you absolutely sure there was not another gun? Peter’s wound does not look like a pistol shot.” “Cicero had the slaves examine the ground. Nothing. Both barrels of Jacob’s gun are empty. Jacob has powder burns because he shot himself directly to the temple. Peter was far enough away that the shot to his head left no such burns.” Cicero did not speak, afraid to add to the tension, but nodded in agreement at Jeremiah’s glance. “My son? Killed himself? He came to claim the slave. Why would he kill himself?” “I don’t know. Get off my land within the hour. Cicero, see to it while I attend to Abigail and Pamela.” Jeremiah left the mansion with Cicero in tow.

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eremiah stalked into the barn, fury painted on his face. His name and prestige had been sullied. His soul and everything he believed was trampled by no less than a son whose name he could barely tolerate in his loathing of this unspeakable act. Jacob had been mesmerized by a tramp, a nigger. And the slave would pay. Jeremiah locked on to Jikindi Nika with a thirst for reckoning, and Jikindi locked on to him. As she did, she did not tremble, but mouthed a prayer for strength and guile. Solomon and Cicero walked behind in trepidation, walking from the sunlight into the shadowy barn in time to see the raised hand of Jeremiah above the unflinching and 235

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT beautiful slave. The backhand swing held terrible power as it was laden not only with fury, but the weight of the coiled and heavy whip. The swing connected in a spray of blood that curdled the apprehension of Mathias into a loathsome horror almost as odious as the death of his friend. Mathias’ revulsion turned immediately to his champion’s protection as he threw his body between the groaning and bloodied female and the devil-possessed slave owner. “Solomon, get him off!” Mathias’ bounds constrained further action as Solomon and Cicero dragged him to the stall rail. Jeremiah slammed the coiled bludgeon several more times to Jikindi Nika’s face as his fury drained only minimally. Solomon winced with each blow even as he held Mathias by a hemp rope around his neck. Mathias kicked, rolled, and gagged as he struggled against the rope’s torture. “Master Jeremiah, she won’t be able ta’ talk if you keep that up,” said Solomon. “Shut up!” Jeremiah pulled Jikindi to her feet. “What did you do to him, you black harlot? What did you tell him?” Jikindi did not reply, eyes blackened and puffy but unyielding, her lip and mouth torn as she coughed, dribbling bubbles of red in her only reciprocation. Solomon tied Mathias to the rail post and moved to Jeremiah’s side. “Master, we have time for this at Fiery Hill. Beating her ta’ death don’t help us. She not going ta’ speak. Give it time. I help.” Jeremiah dropped Jikindi to the ground where her head slumped. She slid to the dust and hay in a stuporous daze. He turned toward Mathias and viciously kicked him in his sides. “What happened, Mathias?” Mathias’ groan was tangled with the words, his arms stretched tightly by the bounds tied to the barn stall. “Master Peter tried to stop us. Jacob shot him.” “I know that, fool. Why did my son kill himself? Tell me quick, or I swear you will feel the same wrath as what took this black bitch! Now, Mathias! I need answers.” Mathias grimaced in pain, pondering his dilemma, knowing that he would have to supply the excuse since Jikindi could not. Truth, at least part, was the best excuse. “Master, Nika would not go with him.” “What do you mean, boy?” “Don’t know if she scared of Master Peter, but she wouldn’t leave. And Jacob…well, Jacob just lost it. He kill that man ‘fore we do anything. Any of us. I swear.” 236

Shadow of The Conjurer Jeremiah’s anger cleared momentarily to its plausibility. And then he yielded a small glimmer of love before surging back to the man he was. A short choke of emotion. A weariness in a slump that recognized the blight in Jacob’s absence. “Solomon, take a horse. Tie my son’s body to it but keep him in the sheet. We need to get back before his body sours. Wait for me. I’ll clean up Nika.” “Sure you don’t need my help, master?” “I won’t kill her, but you take Mathias. Don’t need his interference.” “Yes, master.” Solomon and Cicero left quietly with the bound Mathias, a backward glance from the driver a betrayal of concern. Jeremiah walked to a slop bucket and carried it to a well, filling it with water. On his return he pulled a dirty rag from the barn wall and threw it into the bucket as he crouched next to the senseless Jikindi Nika. He wrung the dirty water from the rag and proceeded to wipe the blood from Jikindi’s face, a grimace of distaste filling his appearance and touch. “Whore, time for the truth.” He spilled the remaining water over her head. Jikindi Nika sputtered as she awakened with a start. Jeremiah grabbed the hair above her forehead, bringing her face close to his. “Don’t mix my temporary measure of grace as anything but a filch of time for you. You’re gone from my life, slave.” “Master Jeremiah, it’s not what you think,” responded Jikindi, unaware of Mathias’ explanation. “Maybe not, but my son’s murder of that despicable man does not mean you are not to blame.” Jikindi bartered for time. “I still a good slave, master.” “Not to me and apparently not to Benjamin Spangler either. Mathias said you wouldn’t come with Jacob. Why not?” “I was afraid, master.” “I don’t see how, witch. You cavorted with my son in front of me, fouling his face with your kisses, your tears. Why would you not leave with him?” “Forgive me, master, for my sin…against you.” She could not afford her true feeling to foil the recapture of Nika’s soul. Nika’s soul could not exist forever split into pieces. Time was an uncaring and intolerant fellow of both body and soul. A complete soul could drift and travel her boundaries forever, but a torn soul was a wounded spirit, slowly 237

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT leeching out the fabric of any nobility, any substance, as it lost its identity and became nothing. Jikindi could not leave the earthly plane to grasp the happiness of her own soul in The Infinitesimal, in Heaven, until her granddaughter was safe. “Your sin against me? I’m not even sure you are capable of sin. I’m not sure you are even human. Don’t you understand that? My son paid the price of his sin. He lies in hell, unworthy of the life I gave him. Your hell is on earth because it has no promise in the hereafter.” Jeremiah shook her bound body. “Now why did you not leave with my son?” Jikindi did not immediately respond, unsure of the response most likely to be accepted. Survival had to come before Nika could be saved. “Peter Spangler beat me. Peter Spangler raped me. I knew he would succeed even though I hoped for Jacob. I’m sorry, master, but Jacob…Jacob was a dreamer. I had to survive.” Jeremiah threw her against the barn wall in satisfaction and rose in indignation and self-righteous certainty. “Of course. Said like an animal. Follow me and don’t talk unless I ask for something. Your voice is repugnant to me.” Jikindi Nika wiped at the small bit of blood in the corner of her mouth. She wondered how Mangala stomached a man such as this. A man who cares more for his inculcation, his own self-command and importance, and his own propaganda, than his flesh and blood.

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few hours later Jeremiah and the group wandered near a bluff overlooking the Tennessee River. “Solomon, take this deer trail to the left. Tie Mathias and Nika to separate trees when we stop. Make sure they can’t get away. Got something to take care of.” Jeremiah and Solomon dismounted, tying their horses as Jeremiah stretched. Solomon bound Mathias and Jikindi as Jeremiah commanded, but in close proximity of each other. Solomon watched Jeremiah carefully as the plantation owner fidgeted while watching the river. “Master, you going to do your business? We can make Huntsville tonight if we hurry.” Jeremiah did not reply. His mind elsewhere, he continued to watch the river, and then a nearby group of circling buzzards. Solomon dropped his hands to his sides in surrender to his master’s preoccupations. Without turning, Jeremiah finally spoke. “Mathias, you said Jacob told you I changed my mind, that as long as Jacob agreed to sell Nika, I would allow her retrieval.” 238

Shadow of The Conjurer Mathias looked up in surprise at the question and glanced at Jikindi for help. Jikindi nodded slightly to show her support. “Yes, Master Jeremiah.” “Convenient answer, Mathias. Yes, convenient answer.” Jeremiah pulled up and down on the balls of his feet, continuing to stretch his legs and feet while locking his arms erectly and continuing to silently face the fast flowing river below. The wait of silence bothered the audience, both bound and unbound, uncertain of the path of Jeremiah’s discourse. “I guess I have to accept that. But I won’t without a little reminder. No, I won’t. Reminders are necessary for the living. For me and you. Yes, even for me, Mathias, even for me.” Solomon remained transfixed, awaiting the tasking of his master. Mathias sweated and gulped, the hairs trembling in anticipation of bad news. Jikindi threw an article to his lap. He looked down to find the leather bag of Jikindi’s magic, the thorn removed from the pritchel and placed back into the bag along with its mystical powder. Questions were raised in the arch of Mathias’ eyebrow. Jikindi pulled her bound hands to her lips to signal silence. Mathias nodded, taking the leather bag and silently moving it to the confines of his pants, pulling the cotton rope belt tighter around Jikindi’s treasure, his only thought now ‘why’ as she smiled to calm him. Jeremiah turned to face them, his decision made. “Mathias, I don’t care whether you were forced to go with my son or not. When we return, you will be whipped, by Solomon, and in front of the rest of my slaves. Yours will be the first beating administered with my approval at Fiery Hill, and I will show it by directing your lashes in attendance. Whether or not it will be the last is undecided, but the others must have a lesson.” Solomon was surprised by the dark task and sudden turn in the management of Fiery Hill, but he was relieved in being trusted with such a duty. It meant his command as overseer was back, stronger than ever before. Solomon was sorry for Jeremiah’s misery, but Jeremiah should have known not to trust Jacob who needed a longer weeding to his responsibilities. And Muso should have intervened with the Jezebel. Jacob was Pamela Spangler’s. Nika knew it. She forgot it to everyone’s detriment. “No, Master Jeremiah, let me take the lashes, instead of Mathias,” shouted Jikindi. “I am to blame for this, not Mathias. He did only as Jacob directed.” 239

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT A diabolical look overcame Jeremiah as his eyes bore into Jikindi as Nika. “Yes, you black cunt. You are to blame. You took my son. You took your guardian. You took everything good away from me. And you did it without looking back to the garden you had.” Jikindi still looked for an out. “Please, I did not. I am sorry for…” “Shut up! I’ll have no more of you. Solomon, get my rope. That tree is steady.” Solomon was unprepared for the direction, his legs wobbly. “No! No!” Mathias screamed. “You cannot kill her! She is guilty of nothing, Master.” “Solomon, I gave you a command. Move!” Solomon scrambled to a horse, startled with his blinding fear. He removed a long hemp rope while Mathias continued to scream his objections and Solomon’s arms trembled and shook. “And gag him. I don’t want anyone close by to come running. Do it quickly.” Solomon handed the rope to Jeremiah and pulled a handkerchief from the saddlebags which he stuffed into Mathias’ mouth. Jeremiah worked a noose around the end of the rope as Jikindi struggled. “Master, what can I do to redress your pain, your loss?” asked Jikindi in one last plea. Jeremiah laughed as he placed the noose around her neck and threw the end over a heavy branch a few feet above her. “A damnable witch who has proven her failure? Nothing. Nothing except this. Exodus 22:18 ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’ Your kind will always be a viper who strike me at first chance. My father warned me of Africans, and I should have listened.” “You mean like the African that saved your daughter’s life!” Jeremiah pulled the rope tight and crouched to the face of Nika. “No, like the African who believes she belongs in a white man’s world. The African whose bones will feed the fishes of this river and then move down its sands to be buried far away from me!” “You make me a contagion, but you are the disease. If I am a witch, so be it. I curse you, Jeremiah Thompson, because that is all that is left me. I curse you to die a stranger to your family and to your friends, your life miserable in your choices, torturing your happiness and bedeviling your needs.” “What’s new about that? Bedevil this, you bitch!” Jeremiah pulled sharply on the rope, but not before Jikindi spit blindly in his direction, the spittle lounging on his chin, 240

Shadow of The Conjurer even as her throat constricted. She twisted and turned, her tongue lolling from her mouth and now bloodied by the clinching of her own teeth. As Solomon and Mathias looked on in horror, Jeremiah held tightly to the rope with one hand and reached for the knife in his scabbard. The knife slashed at Jikindi Nika’s throat, blood spraying toward his arm. Then he slashed the bounds holding her to the tree, unmindful of the knife’s destruction of either flesh or rope. Nika’s bleeding body pulled free from the tree’s trunk and swayed as Jeremiah heaved strongly, pulling her struggling weight skyward toward oblivion. Mathias shuddered in acceptance of his futility and defeat, sobbing through the gag. A buzzard alighted in a nearby tree, seemingly called to punctuate Solomon’s attention and horror. Solomon covered his mouth, holding back the scream, but not recognition of his culpability in the horror of his master’s crime. Slavery could be accepted, but not murder. He clearly understood what he embraced with this man. Jikindi Nika’s arms fell to her side, the taunt rope pulling apart the vertebra of her neck, the jagged bone tearing into her spinal cord. Her leg kicked one final time. Then, she went still. After a long moment to let the job finish its bloody work, Jeremiah dropped her to the weeds. “Throw her over the cliff and into the river. Then catch up with me. I want to get to Fiery Hill, not Huntsville. We will travel all night if necessary.” Solomon agreed, not wanting to counter anything this devil might ask. “After my wife has her time to say goodbye to our son, move his body to a site as far from my home as possible, but within Fiery Hill’s boundary. I won’t salt some other man’s land. He is not welcome to grace a family cemetery. And Solomon, I do not wish to ever know where he lies.” “But master, won’t Miss Sarah object?” “Hell, yes, she will object, but I don’t care. My son is dead to me. Never say his name out loud. I’ll take care of my wife. In the end she will obey, even if she gives me up, and I fulfill that witch’s curse. I’ll be satisfied that he no longer disgraces this family in any way, that plus his lover is fish food. If you tell me or anyone else of his gravesite, I will sell you away; but not before I flay every inch of skin from your backside. Do you understand?” Solomon nodded even as he silently breathed a prayer to what little God he believed. His amends may have been on the outside to this God, but he believed Jeremiah more. Witches and Jeremiah should not be provoked, but witches won out over Jeremiah anytime. When Jeremiah left, Solomon would bury her body in a crevice and cover it with rocks, asking her not to blame Solomon for her death. Nika’s curse was for Jeremiah. Solomon would not give her a chance to reach Solomon from a fishy grave as an 241

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT afterthought. He just wished he had time to clean the bitch up. Least she won’t be scattered. Least she won’t be fish food. Fiery Hill Plantation – August, 1837

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he news of Jacob seemed to age Sarah Thompson twenty years. A recurring tremble in her walk and arm was noticeable. She removed to her room for almost a month to the distress of her daughters. Sarah Thompson could never visit her son’s grave, could only talk to him in prayer, her storms uncooled by his immediate presence in timeless repose. She railed against her husband, struck him for the only time in their life together, but failed to get a reaction at the blow. He walked away, leaving her groundless. Making matters worse was his insistence that any reminder of their son be expunged from the house and burned. Jeremiah even tore the page from the family bible that held the notation of Jacob’s birth. His only relent was allowing Sarah to keep Jacob’s trunk as long as it was removed to the barn loft and emptied of its contents. What little reproach she had was like wind on rock, a hope that maybe one day her inattention to Jeremiah on a regular basis would prove his undoing; and he would relent. She would no longer attend to his bed. She would no longer caress his brow, no longer enjoy the beautiful sunsets on their veranda with him. Onto this sorrowful glade she walked, but only in defense of her daughters. She could not leave this world and abandon them to this man she no longer knew. Sarah Thompson would remain with Jeremiah as an ornament, as proof to the outside world that the Thompsons remained powerful if not deluded. Strength and money did not translate to a family whole. Instead, by a family hole stood a deviant two-faced Cerberus, in his mind no longer the ‘Lion of Fiery Hill’ because his son committed an unforgivable sin, nor in the eyes of his wife because Jeremiah did the same to her. Mathias was still on the mend from the vicious beating administered by Solomon at Jeremiah’s command, a lashing administered in front of Fiery Hill’s astonished and now panicked fiefdom. However, it was Mathias’ daily oversight and care by a loving Josey that forced the two closer through the ordeal. Josey and another servant manhandled the cumbersome but empty trunk to the barn loft. Sarah crouched at the trunk, attended at the moment by a sympathetic Josey. “How can things change so much in so short a time, Josey?” Sarah soulfully caressed the empty chest. “Don’t know, ma’am. Sure wish it weren’t so.” 242

Shadow of The Conjurer “Damn that Solomon! He wouldn’t tell me anything. But damn my husband more!” Josey reached to Sarah’s shoulder. “I knows that our Muso and Nika were youse friends, not just youse slaves. My mama always told me, God bless her soul, that friends make a difference.” Sarah hugged the girl. “I still need someone like Muso. Can you be that friend now?” “Well, yes, Miss Sarah, I was already. But I be a closer friend. I’d like that.” “And so would Muso. And especially Nika and Jacob.” “Yes, Miss Sarah. If I didn’t take care a Mathias, I don’t know what I do. I know what you going through. I feel it too.” “Josey, this whole thing has changed me. So don’t call me ‘Miss Sarah’ anymore, unless my husband is around.” “Changed you, Sarah? There, I said it. You still sweet Sarah to me.” “I need a friend on a day like today, and I suspect you do to.” They held each other’s hands. Josey handed Sarah a handkerchief. “Maybe something good can come from this. My vulnerability at this time was a Godsend. I see things differently after Jacob’s death.” “How is that…Sarah?” “Jacob left me his thoughts. Jeremiah can never know this, but hidden in this trunk is a book, a diary that Jacob wrote. And his writing starts from the very time he met Muso and Nika. Almost every day, my Jacob wrote about what he felt, about what happened to him that particular day. That book will help me through the fact that I do not know where he lies. It’s not only Jacob’s gift to me, but it’s God’s gift to me for staying to fight this evil.” “Goodness! I hope to die if I ever say anything about your treasure ta’ anyone.” “Thank you, Josey. I don’t know why; but something tells me I can trust you, and no one else. Why is that, you think?” “Well, Sarah, I may be a little simple sometimes. I may need a little understandin’ ‘cause I sometimes mess things up a bit. But I always been trustworthy. Maybe the only thing God give me smarts to understand is right from wrong. Maybe that too easy for me and too hard for others. What you think?” “I think you are wise beyond your years, Josey. Maybe it is the rest of us who have some catching up. In the light of Jacob’s actions for Nika, his unfair death, and the contemptible charges against him, those things lead me to see things differently. I don’t see 243

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT you as a slave. I see you like myself, caught in something very, very wrong, but nothing much to do about it. Jacob’s book is a schoolbook for right from wrong.” “Miss Sarah. Oh, there I go again. Sarah, don’t take this wrong. I always thought you sweet, but you still the master’s wife. That a big, hard hill ta’ climb, you know?” “That’s okay, Josey. Really. I climbed from the lowest of my life. Thanks for permitting my friendship. Real friends listen to each other. I can’t do that if I think of you as a slave. But like it or not, our culture in the South does not bode well for that thinking, especially on a cotton plantation. I’m not sure what we can do in that steel trap.” “Steel trap?” “I mean, even if I could free you, I can’t. Law won’t let me, and Jeremiah certainly won’t. I don’t know what to do, Josey. And now I cannot feel anything but evil, especially after the way my husband treated Mathias. And how he murdered Nika.” “We figure it out, Sarah. But if you can’t free us, you make things easier, a little kinder, ‘cause I afraid Master Jeremiah gone over ta’ Satan. He never do ta’ anyone what he done ta’ Mathias. In fact, I don’t know other masters, but I talk with slaves that do. Before, I mean before you left for the Spanglers, Jeremiah a better master than any of ‘em, at least how we was treated. That’s the truth. So only you can control him, Sarah. Only Miss Sarah can do that, not Sarah, you know? I understand that, and you have to believe that. We need Miss Sarah. We need her a bunch.” “Well, maybe I can make amends for the past until a better future opens up, Josey. I’ll be your partner and your friend. That means we are equals in our eyes but cannot be in others. I promise to do whatever I can to keep you and the others from harm.” “Thank you…Sister Sarah. And now, will my friend read me something peaceful from that good book of Jacob’s? Then we can hide it again, protect it so it continues ta’ help us through bad times ta’ better times. Will you do that, Sarah?” “Yes. I would love to.” The McNallys-Present Day Alabama

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ared slept soundly through the day, but Melissa was restless. It seemed to her that every breath of her husband was rough-edged and sandy though she knew that was not the case.

Melissa rose around noon, resigned to the fact she could not sleep, and could not take a sleeping pill if she was to get back on a schedule. She would simply stagger through 244

Shadow of The Conjurer the rest of the day. Melissa was on the way to the kitchen for coffee when she heard the rap on the door. “I don’t need company now,” she said to herself, a tired burn drifting into her thoughts, abruptness her only companion for the visitor. Melissa opened the door ready to simply say ‘it isn’t a good time’. Instead, Blaine Harvey stopped her heart and brought a foul mix of anger and panic. She pushed him back and closed the door softly behind her, flashing a quick look up the stairs to ensure Jared had not heard. “Are you crazy? What do you think you are doing? Jared could come to the door,” Melissa hissed between closed teeth. “He’s asleep. I know it. You know it. Wake up, Nika, you’re pissing me off.” Blaine’s eyes flashed an odd purple phosphorescence. That restrained Melissa, as even a gag could not. Before the lights went out, she knew that her explanation was coming, but maybe not the way she liked.

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PART III “Intersectio”

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PART III “Intersectio” Modern Day Alabama (With Peeks into the Past)

The McNally Home in Brownsboro Huntsville and Redstone Arsenal

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Character Index – 21st Century Alabama

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Character Index – 21st Century Alabama In order of appearance Major Characters Those already noted for present day Alabama and: Sarah Freeman – Descendent of Mathias and Josey. A chemist who works for the U.S. Army Aviation and Missile Command. Also a part-time hobby botanist.

Minor Characters Amy – Jared McNally’s well-organized secretary.

Further discussion of characters is under SPOILER ALERT at the end of the novel. However, as the headline implies, do not read it out of sequence or you will be disappointed.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE Melissa’s eyes rolled back into her head as she lost consciousness and slumped to the porch. Pemba as Blaine Harvey dragged her to the porch swing and propped her in its corner. He stood beside the swing and drew his hands around Melissa’s head, stroking her head firmly with a thumb on each side as his own eyes rolled back and darkened to a purple glow. In a moment Melissa came around, at least her body. “I give you multiple chances, and you’re screwing up every one of them,” said Pemba. Nika as Melissa groggily pushed up in the swing. “I called you on the phone! Jacob wrote a journal about Fiery Hill. Melissa was excited about it, and I suddenly had control.” “If that was true, then why didn’t you answer the door instead of her?” “Whenever you are not around, maintaining control is difficult.” “Keeping control. That is a turning point, not some lovesick boy’s yearning for what he can’t have. My jail time in that place…without my abilities…might as well have been a thousand years. I don’t know which is worse, solitary or you rummaging through my fucking thoughts every second.” Pemba emphasized the last with a finger in Nika’s chest. Nika gritted her teeth, knowing she could respond in kind, but couldn’t. “At least it was long enough to call you.” “I cannot be around all the time.” “And Jared?” Nika asked in a not so subtle reminder of his failure. “It must be the fault of Jikindi, and consequently your fault as well.” “If we get it back…” “When we get it back.” “Yes…master…after we get it back, let’s go elsewhere for bodies.” 250

Shadow of The Conjurer “Jared and Melissa are now Fiery Hill. I love that. After we tire of them, we will find others. Do your job, or you are useless to me.” “Jikindi did not teach the body switch.” “You’re making excuses, Nika.” “She said it was wrong, said she would not teach it until I understood and accepted its repercussions.” “That is odd coming from a woman who did it routinely as an acolyte.” “I know. You told me your version.” “My version? Sarcasm pisses me off. You simply had to take the thorn from Jared when you had the chance.” “It’s probably destroyed.” “If it was, I would know it. The wash of the sneaky cunt’s blood on the thorn took you. And all you did was enjoy her…and her husband too. I’m sure a good fuck was at the top of your ‘to do’ list.” “Have you forgotten that it was you who suggested I be more like you? And you had a fuck on the top of your ‘to do’ list as well.” “I was left with a dog. His only worth a visit to the vet. Your contribution? ‘I’m wearing down Melissa. By the way I told Jared to get rid of the thorn. He said he did.’” “He’s unusually close-guarded.” “But the fact remains I cannot enter him yet.” “Maybe Jared’s will is strong. Maybe it is you. You are the demon, but you are not Muso Koroni.” Pemba backhanded Nika Melissa. “You stupid little cunt! Are you saying I am less than my sister?” As her own anger subsided, Nika dipped her head, a small bit of blood dripping from her lip. “No. No…not at all. I cannot help that you were weakened.” “You forget that I am weak primarily because I prepared for escape. What residual power I had was used to hide us from Jikindi. We did not know then and still do not know if she is far or near. She’s submerged or gone to The Infinitesimal for good.” Nika Melissa eyes simmered. “You do not reward my loyalty. Maybe if you did, I could handle Melissa easier. Maybe I would be more…appreciative.” “You’re whining again.” “No. You killed the dog that did your bidding. I could be next.” 251

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE “He got in the way, and you’re showing your stupidity if you judge your value based on that of a dead mutt.” “He freed us from the grave.” “He was of more value dead, than alive. Melissa had to be emotionally weakened for you to have any possibility of success. Why do you care?” “I don’t. But the whole animal thing?” “It scared them, especially her. And now we have her and Harvey. People agree to almost anything when they are afraid.” “Whatever.” “And Harvey’s cooperation helped.” “But he knows what you say and do.” “He experiences what I let him. You can influence the telling as well. Simply will Melissa to forget what you want her to forget.” “Why doesn’t she remember my intermittent control?” “Can’t say. But I believe you are so far in the back that she hasn’t glimpsed you until now. You said this journal seemed to change things.” “It did. And it helps to know her emotions and insecurities. I can use that knowledge as a tool. But if it is so easy, why is it not the same for you?” “I am strong enough to take Jared by force now. But his secrets are hidden because of your grandmother.” “I want to help,” soothed Nika. Pemba seemed appeased. “I’m hard on you. I know that. But Melissa is a bargaining chip. He either wants her destruction or wants her back. Either way we win if you control her. And with her soul’s death, you can claim her body as your own.” “If she is inconsequential, why worry about swatting a fly?” “Because she is disloyal. Sometimes I despise my attraction to my sister. Women hold us hostage, so I don’t care if the death of Melissa McNally’s soul is petty.” Dark Nika reached again for Pemba. He needed her touch. So she said what Pemba wanted to hear. “Before this is over, Melissa will wish that she was as lucky as her dog that had only its body to lose.” “Nika, at one moment you infuriate me with your whining, even your agreement. Then I crave the same things to calm me. You remind me of my failures, but infatuate my need. I want you whole. I want your belief in me as Nika, not some insufficient twin. You need an enemy, a real enemy, to understand the craving.” 252

Shadow of The Conjurer Nika examined Pemba strangely. “Maybe, but I understand craving. This sumptuous world. The miracles. My people no longer slaves. Of all things impossible, a black man has led this country.” “Of course, the candy surrounds us. I cannot stay angry with you though you occasionally forget why we are here.” Nika smiled to cover up her irritation. She rose from the swing and encircled her arms around Pemba. “Melissa is good as broken.” Pemba pressed closer to his lover. “Your value to me is more than retribution. Melissa’s body has its physical enticement; and with your mind...” Pemba’s breath grew heavier as his hand drew lightly down the back of Nika Melissa’s gown. “If you tire of me, how am I to know you will not take another?” “You don’t. You remind me of your grandmother before her betrayal. Don’t push your luck.” She reached between his legs while biting his lip, Pemba’s nostrils flaring as she drew blood with the nip of her teeth. “See. You respond as the lover I could not have in that dark place. Is it not worth the wait?” “And she doesn’t remember a thing, the times at work, nor in Jared’s bed. Doesn’t want to, I suspect.” Her mouth closed on Pemba’s. Her body leaned against the column and rail, against him. Nika pulled momentarily back, a soft pant in her breath, her eyes penetrating into his, admiring him, anticipating the pleasure that only he had the power to show her. “Jared’s anger at Melissa’s infidelity will bring him to you. I am sure of it.” “I’m in here, you bitch!” telegraphed Melissa to Nika. Nika drew Pemba back to her body, a huge smile on her face. “We win whether she returns or not. If she remembers us, Jared will be too angry with the knowledge of her betrayal to believe her story. If I am in control, then the truth will not only have broken Jared; but it will have broken her too.” Dark Nika raised her gown and placed her lover’s hand over her bare bottom, encouraging his roaming with hand and mouth. It was icy on this winter morning, but Pemba unhitched his pants anyway. The warmth of her body reached not only Nika, but Melissa’s mind. A switch turned on and Pemba’s memories flooded Melissa’s. Melissa told herself to resist; but it was difficult as if her mind was swimming in a sweet and thick molasses of desire. She dreaded what would come next, just as she also wanted it. Like oil and vinegar, dread and desire mixed in a pleasurable, but incomplete combination. They held ice and warmth over her mind like the sharp edge of a knife that opened her senses, just as quick as it could close them forever. 253

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

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ared blinked at the room’s brightness, the afternoon sun opening his eyes, then his mind to the immediacy of the previous night. He lay there inert, focused and thinking of Jacob’s diary, trying for an angle that might rationalize what happened. Through the meanderings of his thoughts, he recognized his hunger calling. Jared threw off the blankets and ricocheted from the bed. In preoccupied contemplation of the items in the trunk Jared almost whistled as he floated down the stairs. His autopilot crossed paths with other senses and stopped moving toward whistling, first with surprise, then questions. Someone was in the house with Melissa. On the sofa. His back to Jared. Reaction to surprise can come in cascades of changes. But if noticed, they come in logical steps, in this case both physical and mental. In his first physical step down the stairs after the declaration to his brain, Jared’s mind asked what family was this that took such intimate strokes at his wife’s hair, such loving touch of her shoulder. In the second step his mind could not remember anyone of this build and age, not on his or her side. In the third step his mind rejected the idea that this was a family member at all and hurried to move to the fourth step, his eyes now working with his mind and suddenly sharp. But it was the fifth step at which horror was realized because horror comes when you recognize the man touching the object of your possession, a possession you do not wish to ever share with the man you hate the most. The man was smiling as he turned to Jared and worse yet, so was Melissa. And most brutal to his now hammering heart and confused emotions was the man’s right hand entwined in his wife’s left hand over the top of their sofa. Not Blaine Harvey’s sofa, or an office sofa where they might accidentally touch inconveniently over work, but Jared’s sofa at his house, a violation of his space and comfort, a violation of supreme consequence and deflation. This was a traitorous violation whose steam whistle blew the cover of his soft steps down their carpet-covered stairs as well as his caution. “What is he doing here?” Jared bounded the last steps in twos and a final three. He landed next to the sofa where he forced Blaine Harvey’s hand from his wife’s, Jared’s other hand already coursing with the steel of a balled fist, an emotional tic or tick from being released. Nika Melissa rose and faced her husband. “Stop, Jared. We have to talk.” Pemba as Blaine did not rise. He smiled annoyingly in triumph. Jared grabbed Blaine’s shirt, tearing the collar, throwing his enemy from the sofa where Pemba stopped his face from hitting the parquet flooring with an unsteady hand that intercepted the coffee table instead. At impact the table shattered; but fortunately for Harvey’s body, the coffee table had no glass and simply splintered. Jared spun around the sofa in the same moment as his leg flexed into a soccer kick that landed with a thud. 254

Shadow of The Conjurer Harvey exhaled an ‘umph’ as his diaphragm bruised while his arm shot out to grab Jared’s outstretched leg. That resulted in both men falling together in a flailing mass of moving arms and hands seeking to inflict as much damage as possible in the fast rending moments. A pile of angry and red-misted men, including Jared McNally, Blaine Harvey, and Pemba, enjoyed the fracas, the blood, and the release. Nika pulled the thrashing bodies apart. More damage and purposeful direction would occur with words than with her feeble foot. “Jared! I said stop. You can’t change what happened!” The message seemed to generate a burst of anger and exertion from Jared. Jared’s fist crashed into Pemba Harvey with a crunch, Harvey’s nose giving way, the smashed septum severing blood vessels that erupted the viscous fluid. The blood coated his fist and face with the gory splash of red. “Get off of him, Jared. Now!” Jared moved, the bloody picture below him freeing his vengeance with satisfaction, reining in his clouded reason. Now his anger could move to his wife. “What did you do?” Jared grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Why, Melissa? Why?” Nika Melissa removed Jared’s hands, but sensitively, without anger. Sensing he was spent, she moved him to a nearby chair as his eyes cleared and sagged with the shock of her betrayal. It was the message’s sudden and unexpected harshness that rolled his mind into a punching bag. Jared dreaded its content, perhaps the need for explanation stronger than its ability to wound him terribly. “Blaine, clean up, okay?” said Nika. Pemba eyed her suspiciously while holding his sleeve to his nose. He walked to the bathroom, accepting Nika’s forced intermission as strategy. After Pemba was out of sight Nika peered into Jared’s eyes, through his eyes, into his soft core, knowing its fragility regardless of its hard outer shell. Dark purpose’s unveiling was through the knowing examination by an experienced woman, an experience that exposes such a woman’s ability to cut to the weakest links in a man’s heart. “Jared, I left Blaine, but he would not give me up.” Jared’s head swayed with an almost imperceptible denial. Why would she entertain taking back a man she should never have had, this obviously weaker figure who was incapable of taking care of a woman such as she? “Melissa, I can’t yet grasp that you ever had him, much less are ready to take him back.” 255

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE “You can’t have missed that we’ve grown apart.” “No. I didn’t miss that, Mel. I missed how you could ever get hooked up with this guy. If he managed to get to you, he was doing it to get to me.” “So I’m not attractive enough to entice other men?” “Listen to you! Of course that’s not true. For God’s sake, I’ve seen your effect on men. But Blaine Harvey? You know how I feel about him.” “He was there when you weren’t. What else can I say?” “You can say how goddamned sorry you are for taking up with this worthless piece of shit. That’s what you can do. You can kick this worthless piece of shit out of our house and hope to hell I can forgive you for ever seeing anything worthwhile in his worthless piece of shit body!” “This isn’t helping, Jared.” “Mel, haven’t we been trying to repair our relationship?” “We have tried. But there’s more to this.” “Yeah, there is. It’s me being an imbecile. Anyone else would have figured you out by now. You never really know anyone because you never know who’s hiding and who is not. I never hid who I was. But you? With you, my trust was built on your lies.” “And you are sanctimonious. You have one constant, Jared. You have an excuse for every single time you weren’t there. You are a serial isolator. You may have been there physically, but you were never there emotionally.” “What more could I do than try to figure this out for you?” “Blaine understands my need for a child. He wants children.” Jared’s mind stammered with the statement. “What? Is that what this is about? Having kids?” “In part, Jared.” “How could kids with Blaine Fucking Harvey help? He has no intention of having children with you. And if he did, he would never be there for them. Don’t you get it? He’s incapable of being there for anything other than sticking his dick in you.” “It’s as much as you gave me, Jared.” “Melissa, he’s working on your fears! You don’t know what is going on. You’re hooking on to anything that appears to float, emphasis on the ‘appears’. Blaine Harvey is a weight, not a float. If he floats at all, it’s because he is a piece of shit.” “Pot calling the kettle black?” interjected Pemba as he walked back to the living room. 256

Shadow of The Conjurer “Stay out of this! And get the fuck out of my house. This is between us, not you.” “You had your chance. The house and you are both problems.” Jared got up again, anger spilling wildly. “I swear to God, Mel. If you don’t get him out of here, I’ll get my gun!” “Blaine, go. I have everything in hand.” Pemba nodded. “I’ll be outside. Jared, give it up. Let her have someone who appreciates her.” Nika grabbed Jared’s arm as he flinched toward his enemy. “Blaine, I said get out!” Pemba moved for a kiss, but Nika stopped him. He shut the front door with a final smirk. “I’ll be on the porch.” “Good God, Mel. Did you see that? He telegraphed his intent every step. He loves this. He gets his rocks off more from me than you!” “Jared, we need time off.” “Okay. I see that. I’ll leave if you simply promise me you won’t see him either. Don’t let him come to our house anymore.” “I can’t do that, Jared.” “Are you fucking crazy? The courts will eat you alive. I’ll end up with everything.” “I don’t care. Blaine and I are well compensated. We’ll do fine. You paid for most of the house.” “It can’t be him. You couldn’t pull the wool over my eyes so convincingly. What do you see in him, Mel?” “More than things. Blaine laughs. He enjoys life which is more than I can say about you.” “I can’t help if we are different. And he’s more different from you than I am. All he did was leer, but you leered back. God, Melissa, you leered back!” “And you, asshole,” Nika Melissa retorted in a whispered staccato, “You are more interested in my betrayal of your hate for him, than my betrayal of you. You are so unabashedly rigid, so unabashedly unfeeling, that you didn’t see my needs. You cannot comprehend the possibility of Blaine, even now. It’s your own damned fault.” That stopped Jared’s heart with a thud, not just because of its cruelty, but because of its truth. Jared could not favor an angry response. “It is not about differences, Jared. It’s about doing with what you have. Blaine is an asshole, but so are you! The difference that counts is that asshole lives life with gusto. I’ll 257

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE live it with him. You have no intention of living out anything other than what you can do in a shell.” “This timing sucks, Mel. Something’s wrong. I can smell it.” “No, you can’t accept it. But you’ll have to.” “Please, Mel, sit down.” Jared motioned to the sofa again. Nika raised her hands in surrender, but shook her head in denial. Jared took her hands into his own. “You can’t do this. It’s wrong. You won’t know how wrong until you leave. And it’s doubly wrong with everything that is going on. I’ll stay in another bedroom, but give it time.” “What’s going to change?” “I won’t lie and say I’ll change immediately, but we can go to counseling.” “It won’t help.” “That sounds like me, Mel, not you. You’ve been affected by this hocus-pocus. For your own good, you can’t listen to your biological clock or that buffoon. You can’t leave without being sure we are the problem. And you will regret leaving if we don’t run this other thing to the ground first.” “I’ll tell you for the last time, Jared. Running this other thing to ground is not about finding some rational basis for it all.” “Okay. Surrender. You’re right. Just don’t leave this house.” “And where is your start of a non-rational basis for it all?” “I don’t know, Mel. I’m not that kind of guy, but I said I would listen. You have any ideas?” “As a matter of fact, I do, Jared. What did you do with the thorn?” Jared blinked. He wasn’t sure how to respond. Nika noticed his reticence and pushed. “Jared, the thorn started all of this. Why are you afraid to discuss it?” “You asked me to destroy it. Why the sudden interest after I did what you told me to?” “So you did destroy it?” “I said I did.” “That’s not the question I’m asking, Jared.” 258

Shadow of The Conjurer Jared stared at his wife long enough to be wary. He wasn’t sure why he said the lie. He just had to do it. It seemed defensive. “I destroyed it, Mel. It’s gone.” It was Nika Melissa’s turn to stare, her eyes seeking a waver, a definite tag of the untruth. “Well, I suppose that is that, isn’t it?” “What do you mean?” “Why would you want to lie to me about that?” “I didn’t.” “So why do I feel that you did?” “I can’t say. Can you?” “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we over reacted. After all, we’ve not had another little present on the back deck for some time. We haven’t seen that wolf or coyote or whatever, have we?” “No, we haven’t.” “Then, why do you continue looking for answers to those episodes?” “Maybe we shouldn’t.” “Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t,” she affirmed. Nika continued to stare at Jared. He tried to return a poker face. “Jared, you continue to seek answers. I’ll do the same; but I’ll do it from Huntsville, not here.” “That’s not a good idea, Melissa.” “Sorry. Can’t help you there, chief.” Jared’s pulse spiked as he saw the conversation slowing and going nowhere. Oddly, a warmth grew in his stomach and began slowly moving to his extremities, a sense of acceptance. More importantly, it seemed genuine, even if that meant Melissa was leaving with Blaine Harvey. “So you’re leaving with him.” “Yes. Not sure how long, but for now.” “Just because I couldn’t return an old piece of buried crap that seemed to start an inexplicable set of events.” Nika stared at Jared. A sly smile slowly appeared across her face. “Of course not, Jared. But don’t paint yourself the victim because you are incapable of experiencing heartbreak. Instead, you’re deluded.” “Bullshit.” 259

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE “You don’t accept the truth, Jared. You are my ex-lover because Blaine’s interesting. Blaine is fun. And you and I have nothing between us important enough for me to stay,” she said with emphasis to salt the wound. “And of course, I don’t trust you because you are holding back.” “You didn’t answer my question either, Mel. Why is it important?” “You’re a fool, Jared. I would have stayed if you had simply given it to me.” “Yeah, that’s evasive and that’s crazy too. I’ll add it to the long list of craziness in the past few weeks, the final one being today. Who would have thought?” “Yeah. I guess I pulled the wool over your eyes after all.” “I guess you did, Mel. God help me, but I guess you did.” “Well, at least you’re skipping towards the end quickly.” “What are you talking about?” “We’ve got denial, anger, and bargaining out of the way. Don’t take too long with depression, and you’ll get to acceptance before the end of the week.” Jared couldn’t understand why he didn’t punch her in the mouth. She deserved it. Or conversely, why he didn’t grab her and hold her against her will for her own good. She deserved it. Or grab the gun from the safe and blow that fucking Blaine Harvey’s brains to ‘kingdom come’ because Jared deserved it. Jared deserved some satisfaction that was not coming any time soon. Jared didn’t understand why, but he was going to let her go. Let him go. Jared needed time. Something important was missing. Nika Melissa sashayed toward the stairs, taking his attention. “I’m packing a few things. Then, I’ll go.” After a few steps she turned to face Jared. “What about the bag the thorn came in?” Jared rose from the sofa and turned to study her face. “It’s gone too,” he replied stone-faced, knowing he had never mentioned the bag to Melissa, but realizing that he had never connected the thorn to the bag either. Nika Melissa paused only for a silent moment to watch her husband turn away from further discussion, Jared giving nothing in return. Jared walked toward the basement steps that led to the peace and the recovery of the inner Jared he knew, the calming resurrection of his P-47 Thunderbolt. “Help yourself out, Mel. I’ll clean up the mess. And call me when your senses return. Just don’t bring your favored asshole back to my house.”

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CHAPTER THIRTY Jared worked on the model for an hour; but the buzz never came, that nice buzz when he gave over his thoughts to his recreation. The P-47 was no longer a pile of splintered parts. Over the weeks of spare time, when he was not handling Melissa or working on their clandestine project, he painstakingly cut plane structures that now lay before him ready for assembly, paint, and wire. Jared looked up from his magnification lamp, one of the model’s fabric-covered elevators held lightly in his forceps. Melissa mercifully did not come to the basement to announce her departure. That thought was cruel as he contemplated their afternoon together at Harvey’s house. The cruelty flowed into his bones, curdling his nerves, leaving the foul taste of, yes, heartbreak…or failure of control. Maybe she was right, but it did not matter. “Yeah, bitch, I’m capable of heartbreak,” he said softly to no one; but the tear did not come, not even sadness, just a simmering rage. The forceps crunched, and the elevator fell into splintered pieces on the table. Jared glanced down, inhaled strongly, and chuckled. “Well, Mel, you’re batting a thousand on stupidity. I guess I’m not finished with anger either.” Jared laid the forceps down, wiped the plane residue away from the edge of the table, and rested his chin on his palms. He did not want to think about Mel though he felt he should in an unemotional, ‘head forward’, Jared kind-of-way. Or maybe he should lie down for a nap or hit the exercise room. Jared placed his head on the table with outstretched arms, from above appearing crucified to the table. He tapped his fingers, first slowly then more feverishly, hoping futile drumming would warm him, stop the little shakes, and mitigate the spread. It did not help as neither recreation nor willpower broke the sense of failure that thickened the bile of his wife’s betrayal. He was a little distant, yes, but he never stooped to another because she was always enough. 261

CHAPTER THIRTY He tilted his face toward the wall, chin up, as his eye’s projector opened the wall like it was a theater screen of the upstairs bedroom, the projection’s edges softly feathered to a fuzzy picture in his mind. How many times had they done it behind his back? How many times was his own bed soiled? Did he purposefully miss the signals? Jared tried to stop the image, but his mind’s eye subjugated his will. He despised the weakling he was that forced him to watch their coupling forms, blurry but growing more distinct as moment reached to moment. He pulled into a sitting position and averted his eyes to the floor, but the nightmare vision pulled him to the ceiling. It was as if a mighty laser burned every obstacle from the wall, then through every floor as it searched for their bedroom. His empty bed merged with images of Blaine having his way with Melissa, the covers over their bodies melting away to reveal even more pornographic images. “Goddamned nut-cutting illusions!” His hands viciously scraped at the table, scattering pieces of plane parts in an arc and knocking an open bottle of paint into the air that spattered yellow across the floor. Jared’s eyes spun around the room, needing anything to slow the panic, but seeing nothing to assuage his pain. He took his hands in his lap in a tight embrace and rocked back and forth. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” But while he felt himself slowly coming apart, he also sensed the blackness was not in complete control. What is that itch? It was not Melissa. It was not that ass-wipe. Then the relief surged into his body, wiping away the darkness and placing control squarely within the logical Jared, instead of the uncomfortable emotional one he preferred leaving in the closet. Jacob Thompson. Jacob Thompson was not mentioned on the notes for the old photos. Not mentioned in any of the loose correspondence. Where was Jacob? Jared flew up the stairs to the computer room and darted to the corner where he had placed the photos the previous night. He unwound the cloth that surrounded the fragile pictures, looking carefully at the pasted notes on each. Nothing of Jacob. He opened the family bible where the brittle pages of that early family history were ensconced in faded inky notes. Nothing of Jacob. The date of publication of the old bible, 1855. After the events in the journal. Curious. It was the journal that revealed Jacob, not these crumbs of nothing. His absence in the family history seemed to paint an insubstantial and shadowy bridge to the present. Jared pulled his cell phone from the kitchen and opened its address book. He punched in the number and after a few rings, she answered with a quiet ‘hello’. “Emma?” 262

Shadow of The Conjurer “Yes.” “Jared McNally.” “Oh. So good to hear from you, Jared. You already find something?” “Sort of. Do you have any recollection from your family history of a son of Jeremiah?” “No. Why do you ask?” “Nothing really. Just ruling out some things. So he had no sons?” “No. The family name died with him in the fire. All three of his daughters married. I’m out of the Freeman line that started with the marriage of Emma Thompson to Chaney Freeman. I’m named after my great-great-grandmother.” “That’s interesting, but you’re sure Jeremiah had no sons.” “Positive. I’m the family historian. I would know if it was there. Besides, there’s no son buried in the old family cemetery.” “How do you know for sure?” “I have accounted for everyone on the headstones. All of them are noted in the family bible you have in the trunk. I even added names and dates of our family’s later additions. Did you see them? I had an extra sheet tucked in the middle of the bible.” “Uh, yeah, I think so.” “Yes. The old ink, the faded ink, is easy to see. Those are the original entries.” “Thank you, Emma.” “Sure, Jared. But you never said why you thought Jeremiah had a son.” “One of those young men in the photos looked like old Jeremiah.” “Oh, no. No. Those men married into the family.” “Right. I thought that was the case, but I just wanted to be sure. Thanks again.” “Anytime, Jared. Call me if you need anything else.” No Jacob. Damn curious. It meant only one thing. Jacob died or left the family in disgrace. And then he was expunged from their record with malice. No other logical reason existed. Somehow that seemed right, but did not answer the mystery of the thorn.

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ared arrived at the Thompson cemetery at the day’s failing light. He immediately sought out the plot of Jeremiah and Sarah. They were not hard to find. They were central to the small cemetery. The wind picked up and combined with the January cold to leave him shivering. Leaves and debris swam by in a swirl. Jared 263

CHAPTER THIRTY pulled his coat tighter. His line of sight was drawn to a broken headstone. It was Sarah’s. While her name was legible, the inscription above was damaged. It must have once said ‘Loving Wife’. It now said only ‘ng Wife’. Jared took digital photos of each of the cemetery’s headstones for his computer work, capturing several shots of Sarah’s and Jeremiah’s, Jeremiah’s standing imposingly higher than Sarah’s. After he returned home, Jared began the tiresome process of downloading and entering the data before fatigue caught up with him. He rose from his chair, stretched, and walked to the master bedroom. He took one glance at the empty bed, blinked, then turned and walked to the guest bedroom where he crashed without pulling out the coverlet. The fatigue, more mental than physical, quickly brought a deep slumber. The phone at the bedside would not have raised him from the appearance of death.

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ometime in the night, as sleep repairs Jared’s emotional exhaustion, a pale light breaks the dark of the hall, entering the open room without resistance. Ever so slowly, it illuminates Jared’s form lying diagonally across the bed, the features on Jared’s face first shadowy then more distinct. The gray grows into a soft white, revealing the detail of Jared. His sleep induced and slack-jawed face dribbles saliva. His pale cheek shines and contrasts with the short bristles of his emerging beard. His cotton plaid shirt lies in sharp rivulets of wrinkles. Jared awakes slowly from the tickle that grows into a pinch. His eyes blink, the room hazy and then transforming, shimmering as the arm of the pale and black-coated figure retreats. “What the fuck?” says the startled Jared as his eyes adjust to the dark recesses inside the faint moonlit barn. A long bench is ahead of him near a stall. On it lays a man, spreadeagled, an arm and leg dangling backwards. His face reveals a blood-encrusted temple, his eyes cloudy in death. “Do I need to shut your foul mouth?” asks the stern figure emerging from the shadows near the barn’s wide entrance. “O-oh!” Jared’s head swivels toward the figure dressed in antique clothes. From the photos of the previous night he recognizes the figure as the old man, Jeremiah Thompson. “What the hell?” “I said ‘shut up’! That language is unnecessary for a man controlled and certain of his path. You are not such a man.” “I must be dreaming.” 264

Shadow of The Conjurer “If you are, then take advantage of it. You need my sense to understand your own. Maybe to change the course it is taking.” Jared’s eyes flit to the figure draped over the bench. It is a young man, dressed in similar clothing as Jeremiah, a leather boot lying on the dusty floor and angled toward the moonlight with the initials JJT across its arch. “Where am I?” “Surely you sense the latch, the triggers. They open a door to measured retribution.” “Whose body?” “You asked me from the void for answers. Know not what you seek?” “Jacob, your son?” “Don’t say his name again; but yes, the son who disgraces me, who still fouls my memory.” “I don’t know why I dream of you. But if my subconscious can use Jeremiah to manipulate the pieces into something I can understand, then tell me what to do. You’ll save me a lot of time.” Jeremiah walks to the body and crouches to the face whose helpless eyes stare without answers toward the faint light. The dead man is bloated and stiff, malformed in death’s time exposure before burial. Nonetheless, death still reflects the unmistakable trait of youth. “Everyone close betrays me,” says Jeremiah. “The only grant I acknowledge of my son is the fact that he was too weak-minded to betray me on his own.” Jared examines the craggy face of Jeremiah Thompson. Jeremiah meets Jared’s dissection with stony acceptance. Jeremiah knows that kinship flows from those with shared wounds, even if a ghost does not welcome the inspection. However, a price must be paid for blood to flow freely in its cleansing. Jeremiah’s gray mouth creases upward in a smile, relishing the cost to the examiner as well worth the examination. Jared’s dream appears to falter in recognition of such cost. It stumbles and retches with nausea as the old man’s corneas seem to crack, then shatter, closing his eyes, pulling Jared within, pulling him to the foul desperation in Jeremiah’s afterlife. Jared’s sense of absorption is recognized at its source as something he cannot rid so easily, something that molds him, melds him with a man from so long ago. His acceleration into such a blackness seems to pull at every inch of his now naked skin until it rips apart within the tiny cells of his core, then spreads beyond to his tissues, obliterating the man within. Jared becomes part of the darkness. Jared’s eyes open to face Jeremiah once again, the two dark pits in Jeremiah’s face staring back absent a soul of light that once lay there. 265

CHAPTER THIRTY “I see we have something more in common than the property known as Fiery Hill. We share Fiery Hill’s legacy, its sadness, and its ability to seduce, then deceive and bite,” notes Jeremiah. Jared does not reply, maybe cannot. He only listens in acceptance of Jeremiah, calm even in the face of the precipice at which his own soul stands. Jeremiah’s hand reaches out to Jared and lands its icy touch upon Jared’s shoulder. “A man is only as strong, as physical in his world as those around him. My soul is anchored to something stronger than family and land. It is anchored to my incomplete purpose. Ask yourself if I contacted you or you me? Ask yourself if you ignore your purpose to your detriment.” Jared’s eyes drift to the gray skin, the pale and cracked nails on the hand lying on his shoulder. The hand claims him. The hand turns Jared toward the bench. Jared does not flinch when he sees that Jacob’s body has turned into Jeremiah’s, a broken Jeremiah, askew and malformed. Jeremiah’s body begins a slow drip of blood that dribbles from his ear down his neck, catching on the collar of his white shirt. The shirt smokes, then blackens, even as the blood spurts thicker, as if a spout is turned to release it from its barrier within. The viscous liquid runs over the collar and down his arm until it flows to the ground, smoking the very dirt with its harsh touch, liquefying and turning it red, then orange, as if the blood turns to flames. As Jeremiah’s clothes burn along with his dissolute body, his head slowly dissolves, leaving a skull which with the body soon diminishes to crumbling ash. A vent emerges within the reservoir of orange flame. Around its edges Jeremiah’s blood continues to puddle, the growing breach exposing rock and flame as the living claret gurgles and flows to the depths. The action bequests steps that lead to the bowels of the earth, steps over which the liquid fire washes while the acrid smoke from below rises and floats in the air. An indistinct figure takes form within the caustic haze, her body wrapped and moving languidly within red silk. She is a young black woman whose wide and alluring lips and oval face beckon with high cheekbones of dark and enticing symmetry, eyebrows slanting upwards with invitation and lips parting with the intrigue of desire. She glides and folds her beseeching arms and open hands toward Jared. The woman stops in front of Jared and pulls him to her body for a familiar and long embrace. Jared accepts this attention with relish, stiffening him even as she examines him to dawdle over his potential as a lover. The pleasure engorges his vision, the scene becoming more like that of a play with Jared the audience. And as Jared watches himself with the woman, the woman accepts Jared, pulls his fingers to her mouth and then her breast in the slow motion of deliberate overture. Jared understands that while his point-ofview was indeed as Jared McNally, the reverse angle reveals the figure to be Jacob 266

Shadow of The Conjurer Thompson dressed in Jared’s clothing. Jared watches intently as the woman takes her own hand from Jacob’s back and with the caress of its soft backhand, touches Jacob’s chin. Her hand’s action is followed carefully, a close and framed shot of the hand drifting upward to paint Jacob’s jaw and finally his cheek. Her touch erupts Jacob’s skin with fine blisters that grow and then belch, dribbling pus and sloughing skin, exposing decaying muscle, then bone, even as her hand moves upward to fondle Jacob’s long and oily hair. Jacob coughs in return and vomits blood as his eyes cloud over and his body is given to the woman. Even as Jacob slouches, his head drooping limply behind him, the woman manages the weight as if she has superhuman strength. She rolls Jacob in a twirl as if he is a rag doll doing the rumba, the head slinging his suppurating tissue into the air. This woman takes the role of the man while Jacob takes that of the woman. She directs his body while his head swirls and is moved to her front at the completion of the macabre dance. His back lies sagging against her breasts, his lolling head and its decaying face now hidden by his hair. The woman’s right arm moves around Jacob’s side to hold his crotch while her left holds up his lifeless body. She directs Jared’s attention by taking Jacob’s long hair in her left hand which she whips stiff-armed toward Jared, dragging Jacob’s hanging body with it. As Jared’s dreaming heart quickens, the woman rips Jacob’s head from his body, throwing the red-gored remains to the sulfurous ground. The head left in her hand jangles with the action, as if a yo-yo on a string of hair, her arm bouncing slightly before coming to rest with its ruby treasure. The dripping hair continues to obscure the face until the woman engages Jared’s eyes with a snarl and parts the hair from the bobbing head for Jared’s show. What stares back is not Jacob, but Jeremiah’s pale visage, including the empty and desolate sockets. Jeremiah’s mouth opens and closes in a chitter, accompanied by a bubbly gush of black and mucousy debris. “You’ll get your chance, so finish the bitch! Finish the bitch!” he exclaims between dark and oozy dribbles. His head turns sluggishly to face the woman who smiles at her prize. “Carping vixens!” Jeremiah’s head says before floating back toward Jared. “Finish it before you lose your head and your dick, you miserable shit. It’s the cunts, not us, who are at fault!” As the audience of one watches entranced, the woman devolves with a cackle. The ebony siren fades and is replaced by Melissa McNally while Jeremiah’s head takes a final shimmer before solidifying as Jared McNally, slack-jawed and empty, no longer anchored to a life of purpose, but instead diverted by betrayal.

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ared’s eyes shoot open as he leaps from the bed in one mad movement of weak and ratty screams before hitting the wall. He bounces and falls to the floor, scrambling in recovery while eyes slide in panic left and right before realizing he is in the physical world. His heart is pumping recklessly.

Jared pulls himself to the edge of the bed as the coverlet slips in his hand. Eyes peek over the rim. “Take your fucking Blaine Harvey. I don’t need you, Melissa McNally. I never did.” Jared stands erect, the film in his mind apparently shaken loose. He peers out the uncurtained window with unharried eyes to the fields below and welcomes the daylight. He is no longer bound as a slave to a woman who cares nothing for him. Except for lascivious fragments, she is a waste of time. “It is winter, and I am hungry,” he announces. “Jared, let’s have breakfast before we pay our adulterous shadow a visit.”

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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE Jared grinned broadly as he pulled into the parking lot of the Sparkman Center Complex. He felt different this morning, imbued with confidence, enjoying the radio on the way to work, instead of thinking about his job. His first stop would not be his wellorganized office, nor anyone on today’s calendar placed crisply at the front of his desk by his well-organized secretary. Jared walked briskly through the secure entrance, his heels clicking loudly on the granite floor. He punched the elevator button with bravado and in moments entered the legal office. A couple of people smiled and waved as he passed in the carpeted halls filled with picture frames supporting various missile or helicopter programs. Melissa was on the phone. Jared did not knock. He opened the door quickly and sat in a visitor’s chair before Melissa had a chance to raise her head. When she did, she huffed a rapid “Jared’s here…yeah, you should. See ya’.” She hung up her phone. “Why?” “Not to raise a stink.” “I thought I was very clear yesterday.” “You were.” “Not a good time, Jared.” “It never is. Won’t take long.” “You have five minutes.” Jared chuckled. “That’s my Mel. Barking orders. It is time we moved on, and I have no problems as long as I get the house. And I don’t want your horses.” “Are we negotiating?” 269

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE “No. Simply repeating what you said yesterday, but with my acquiesce and conditions.” “Cash is required.” “Within reasonable boundaries.” “You can leave now unless you have some unfinished business.” “Not unless you are referring to the blond from the highway quick mart I intend to boff.” It was Melissa’s turn to laugh. “Jared! Is that the best you have? Fried ‘white trash’ bologna with tits? Well, at least they’re fertile. By the time you finish pulling your tiny hot dog from your white bread bologna sandwich, you’ll have ten kids. That’s okay. You’ll have that flabby, shit-hiding, smothered-thong ass to comfort you.” “You were white trash before I met you,” Jared retorted which brought a fresh gush of laughter from Melissa and a red glow to Jared’s face. “Tsk, tsk. Aren’t you a woman-eating honey badger. Lost your wife to the man you hate. Lost her in your own bed. Now that must hurt. But what do I know. I’m just white trash.” Jared’s confidence took a hit, knowing he did not have the wherewithal to stand up to his articulate wife. He calmed while she giggled, teepeeing his hands as he stared quietly at her. “I have the thorn. And the bag. You won’t see either one.” That got her attention. “I knew you were lying. Give them to me!” “What good are they?” “It doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out myself.” “The scared Mel, even the crazy Mel I was worried about, doesn’t seem to exist any longer. Instead, I have this Valkyrie. You don’t need the thorn. You no longer live at Fiery Hill.” “So you won’t give it to me, even if we bargain?” “No, bitch. You gave up on me.” “I don’t have the patience today to deal with your pouting,” said Nika. “So why do you want it?” “Why? You said it yourself. I’m a little crazy. Why else would I drop Jared, such a handsome and fine-edged man-jewel, for such a rough-edged lump of coal like Blaine?” Jared trembled, and his eyes even fluttered. “You’re all alike. Drop your pussy on the closest warm and stiff dick until it’s cold and limp. Then you move to the next.” He 270

Shadow of The Conjurer pointed a shaking arm and finger at his wife. “Carping vixen! I won’t lose my head or my dick over you.” He strode from the office, the hate painted on his face, leaving Nika Melissa stunned at the change in demeanor. Wow. That came from nowhere she thought. “Won’t help my concentration either,” she mumbled aloud, knowledge of law from Melissa one thing, but using it smartly as Nika quite another.

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ared flung open the heavy glass door leading from the Sparkman Complex, so preoccupied that he did not feel the drizzle of a cold January rain. He jogged toward his car in the huge parking lot, feeling for his keys on the run. He did not notice the individual in the front seat until he was behind the steering wheel, keys outstretched for insertion into the car’s panel. Jared’s anger reemerged in a high-pitched squeal of shock. “Get the fuck out of my car!” “Wait. It’s not what you think.” Jared pushed jaggedly at Blaine Harvey. “Fucking ‘A’ it isn’t! Now! Or I’ll pull you out.” “Jared, it’s urgent we talk.” “How did you know I was here?” “Got connections. Does it matter? Calm down for a moment and let me explain.” “I don’t want to hear how long you have been shafting my wife. Or why.” “It’s not that. It involves the thorn.” He instantly softened, his arm growing limp so that Harvey released the now impotent bludgeon of flesh and bone. “What…what do you know?” asked Jared. “Everything.” Jared’s eyes widened, Blaine’s smile unsettling, instead of reassuring. In a trance he dropped the keys onto the console and grabbed the steering wheel lightly with his hands. Jared hated this man more than any man he knew. He thought more than he hated his wife only because he wanted Harvey to be responsible, leaving some hope that Melissa’s tilt in Harvey’s direction was somewhat excusable. But make no mistake about it. The tray that was that damn thorn held an unseen main course. It would make Jared vomit and shit…and vomit and shit some more in a continuous spatter of guts and indigestible 271

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE poisons and offal until cramped and dehydrated, out of options, he would accept a twisted and painful death. Only when the world around him shimmered, starting an earthquake of light, not of ground, did Jared realize that his perception of the physical universe was about to change. And that was very, very difficult for a man of his ilk. Shimmering, ribbon-like landscapes of light. Illogical. A swoosh and a feel of being sucked and stretched. Impossible. Blinking awake inside a pulsing purple globe of translucent gelatin. He must be on drugs. If sluggish was the wrong word to define Jared’s inhibition of sight, it would not be the wrong word for the inhibition of movement that he felt in his limbs. He attempted to right his body by forcing his arms against the floor of this nightmare. He moved, but without firmness, without the consistency and graceful motion of waking life. His limbs felt weightless but jerky. He did not breathe, did not require air, but existed just the same. No sign of proportion existed. When he held his arms and hands in front of his eyes, they glowed and seemed to tremor slightly. They seemed to bend with the sway of some unworldly wind, elongating and shortening as if two ribbons of kelp in a gentle ocean current, each arm passing through the other, each hand unable to grasp a hold. Through the wispy purple void emerged the enemy that could not be. This was a purple-hued phantom painted in the shape of Blaine Harvey. “I am indebted to you. You released me from my prison, Jared.” Sound on this plane was not vibration of air. It was thought. Single and instantaneously transmitted thought. Telepathy was normal here. And somehow Jared expected it. “I didn’t. My dog did. And he’s dead,” replied Jared. Pemba Blaine Harvey turned his palms toward Jared, his spectral feet finding a floor that appeared instantly from a small flash of purplish light. Pemba’s hands began to twist and turn as a small kaleidoscope globe of energy appeared ghostly within his hold. The hands slid into the globe as if they were gloves, and the slowly twisting orb sped up. The bubble ship paled to let in the kaleidoscope view of the outside, of The Infinitesimal. ‘My God!’ came Jared’s thought. He was unprepared for a universe of light. This was not the dark such as he would experience on any night looking up from Mother Earth. Maybe the Hubble Telescope correctly captured both the picture and emotion of the universe. But this universe. Well, this universe’s stars were magnificent in their ability to dazzle without magnification. He looked at a brilliant and sparkly blue star of light, one of the brightest. And as if in reaction to Jared personally, his attention seemed to bring the 272

Shadow of The Conjurer blue star closer where he viewed its greater definition and complexity. The star was clearly thousands of overlapping spatters of different hues, each event surrounded by spidery cracks that defined the event as a singular life of its own, a singular city. And each city (and yes, Jared saw this as a community of souls, a community of friends or family or both) was a stage for its own play. Jared focused on one of the overlapping spatters and watched it pulse. With what he sensed as a belch of laughter, it elongated before collapsing as the laughter subsided. These living events were warm, ecstasy in motion. It overwhelmed him. He looked back at Blaine and howled in side-splitting amusement and, more importantly for Jared, happiness. “It’s beyond anything you could imagine, isn’t it?” asked Pemba. “Yes. I can’t choose between watching the whole or watching each…star…or event. Where is this?” “You are not looking at the stars of the Milky Way or a galaxy of earthen sky.” “I could tell. These stars. They are alive.” “In their own way. Though they are closed to you and me.” “Closed? I don’t understand.” “We are visitors. The dead are the spirit residents of this playground. They supply its energy, its marvel. I brought you to what I call The Infinitesimal, so you would help me. You would not have believed me otherwise.” “Believed you?” “I want your body.” “What?” “I am a body switcher. A spirit. I move from one shell to another. It’s why I was able to use Connor. Unfortunately, my escape was noticed by my jailer and enemy, a witch named Jikindi. Jikindi killed Connor.” “You bring me to this strange…and wonderful place. And you think that makes up for taking the form of a man I hate and using that form to steal my wife? That’s supposed to make me believe you did not also kill Connor?” “You don’t trust me.” “Of course not! I don’t trust anyone now.” “You don’t know what I have to offer.” “Then tell me; and while you’re at it, tell me what would motivate Jikindi to kill my dog.” 273

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE “I may be the only friend you have, Jared. Jikindi and I have a long history, too long to go into now. She captured me. She captured my spirit lover. She put us in a prison in another dimension with a spell using a thorn. Suffice to say that my freedom jeopardizes Jikindi’s ability to live an immortal life of body switching. But I have no idea why she would kill Connor unless to make a statement, to make you vulnerable.” “Jikindi can take bodies as well?” “Yes.” “Melissa has been acting strangely ever since we found the thorn. Does she possess my wife?” “I don’t think so, but Jikindi does not have to possess. She can influence from afar. Fear destabilizes. The death of Connor could be the door Jikindi used to get to Melissa.” “A lot to digest, much less believe.” “Voila! You made my case for bringing you here.” “Who are you? Really.” “I am Pemba. My mate is Muso Koroni.” “Muso Koroni? I know a Muso.” “I sense you do, but it is not the Muso I know. Muso is Mande for ‘woman’. Mande is the language of my homeland. How did you hear of it?” “A book. I read it in a book. So, are you even from earth?” “Of course. I am ancient. I am one of only two of our kind. A male and a female, my mate Koroni.” “You steal bodies which implies you do not have your own.” “You guess correctly.” “Did you lose yours?” “I never had one, but I have symbiotic relationships with males of your kind.” “So what kind are you?” “Formless but awake. Male because I cannot easily possess female. The opposite can be said of Koroni and Jikindi.” “Why haven’t you taken me?” “I won’t. I want your help, not your hindrance.” “You want the thorn.” “Of course.” 274

Shadow of The Conjurer “So why the animals? That back porch thing, Pemba. Craziest thing I ever experienced until today.” “Animal thing? What do you mean?” “Give me a break, Pemba. The bodies, the animal…sacrifices or whatever you left on our back porch. Not only is my dog dead, but so are my two cats. One was killed by a hellishly huge coyote that threatened Melissa and me while standing over its body.” “Like I said, fear makes you and Melissa vulnerable to her influence. Jikindi could be pushing you to destroy the thorn.” Jared pondered the explanation. “So you admit taking Conner but not killing him. And I am to believe you are not responsible for the animals on my porch. That a witch named Jikindi is responsible.” “Much to believe. I know. But again, it is why you are here. To make you believe.” “Where did you go after you left Conner?” “I was weak at my escape but needed to gain a human. I switched to your postman when Connor approached him. After controlling the postman I watched your house. I saw Blaine Harvey there which uncovered their secret affair. I apologize for the transgression, but I could not pass up a chance to watch for Jikindi from the cover of a body.” “Are you saying Jikindi can’t get to me because of my gender, and so she’s using my wife to pry the thorn from me?” “I believe that to be true.” “It’s been one crazy thing on top of another. Does the name Jeremiah Thompson ring a bell?” “Mmm…well…no.” “Sure? Looks like I might have hit a nerve.” “No, I don’t know a Jeremiah Thompson. Why do you ask?” “My place. A long time ago, it was his. More importantly, why was the thorn buried in his old slave graveyard where my dog dug it up and started this mess?” “You seemed mired in unnecessary details. We’re wasting time.” “I’m wired that way. Being bit by trust changes you. So if Jikindi is your jailer, why did she let go of the thorn in the first place? I would have put it in a safe, or better yet, destroyed it to keep you in there forever.” “I can’t say how it ended up in your grave yard. I can’t say why she didn’t destroy it. But I would imprison her, instead of her using it again on me. If I destroy it, she’ll make another; and I will be without protection.” 275

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE “I have never met this Jikindi unless it was in that dream of mine. I saw a beautiful black woman.” “A dream could be her venue. She’s as slippery as an eel and mean as a cobra. Describe her to me.” “A young and vibrant woman. Desirable. But yes, as you said, certainly ‘mean as a cobra’. Nice hips. Of average height. Oval face and rather high cheekbones. Intriguing eyes.” “That’s her!” “Maybe.” “Let me in. Your memory will be mine. I can verify our suspicions.” “Pemba, I need some time to sort through this.” “What if I gave you all the time you ever need?” “Is this another surprise?” “Only the largest treasure anyone can offer. And I choose to give it to you. You can become an immortal like me.”

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arah Freeman had taken the day off from her work as a chemist for the Army Aviation and Missile Command’s Research, Development, and Engineering Center or AMRDEC. She was engaging in her favorite pastime, hiking the deer trails and forest floors for mushrooms, exotic plants, or trees from which she gathered roots, barks, leaves, or seeds. She would take these home for various uses, sometimes drying them, other times steaming them for brews, or grinding them for powders. They were cataloged, tested, and documented to support the development of well-defined herbal pharmacopoeias. It was her hobby, and she had a close-net group of fellow hobbyists. She and her friends enjoyed the sun and the outdoors while doing something they felt passionate about because it supported a healthy and natural way of life. Sarah was bending to examine a plant she saw only rarely, pulling gently on the lower stem to shake loose the roots, when her eyes flew open. She jerked upright, crushing the plant in her hands and breaking the stem and leaves from its roots. Her lower lip trembled as her glasses tipped from her nose and fell to the mossy forest flow with a soft thwack. In the next movement Sarah sunk to the ground, her hands dropping in front of her knees that splayed among the forest grass. She grunted and breathed deeply. “He’s here. Mangala, help me,” she said to herself. 276

Shadow of The Conjurer After recovering, she arose, the alarm reflecting her preparation. At least she learned her lesson from his first unexpected appearance long ago. Sarah’s eyes closed tightly and then opened again as she sniffed the fragrant breeze. She was troubled, searching for something in the air. She fixed on a glint in the sun, turning her head slowly this way and that before raising her black hand to the sky and moving it east and then northward. She walked hypnotically in that direction, but the impulse ceased with the tug of a GPS from her pocket. She pulled the GPS toward her stiff and trance-like eyes, her nose flaring and her lips and chin curling as if she had inhaled an obnoxious decaying smell. Sarah plugged some numbers into the device and pulled up a digital map. She zoomed on the tract. Her hand flew to her mouth. “That’s on the Arsenal. The Sparkman Center! Not the graveyard? Koroni, guide me.” She returned to search for her glasses, quickly retrieving and placing them in the pocket of her heavy coat. Sarah ran as fast as hiking boots would allow, toward the edge of the woods and her car.

J

ared paused. He could accept an afterlife with the miracles he saw here, so he was confused. “Pemba, I don’t want to die yet. I’m not ready for this place.”

“I want your body. More importantly, I want a comrade, a friend to experience life with me. Some scientists believe they are within a century of being able to download our brain to a computer. I do it better. Your earthly vehicle dies. But I can transfer your mind and memories to the next shell, just as one hard drive on a computer can be placed in another. If you allow me, our physical bodies will be stacked upon each other throughout eternity on earth.” “And Harvey?” “Yes, let’s talk of Blaine. He wants Melissa. And despite what she has said to you in the past few weeks, she wants him. I cannot buffer you from that truth.” Jared seemed to darken, his eyes hardening at the discourse, his body’s image actually flickering in reaction. “So you‘re saying she left me for Blaine, not because she was forced by you or Jikindi.” “Of course she was not forced by me, Jared. Why would I bring you here if I did not need you?” “Yesterday, you and I were at blows.” 277

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE “You jumped me yesterday. It was Blaine Harvey who fought back, not me. Your wife chooses the affair.” Jared mumbled. “Bitch. Self-absorbed bitch.” “Jared, you don’t have to be reminded of him.” “I am reminded of him when I look at you.” “In The Infinitesimal I can change to a different form if you like.” “By association with you and that graveyard, I can never be rid of him. Jesus Christ, Pemba! You’re fucking my wife with his body.” “Not exactly.” “It can’t be any different.” “He doesn’t know I’m there.” “That doesn’t change the fact you are. Where is that ‘shit bag’ Harvey?” “He’s asleep, but he’s there. In the background.” “Yeah, so don’t wake him up. Ever.” “I’ll do better.” In an instant he was gone from his orb. The next he was back accompanied by Blaine Harvey. They were twin images. One burst with energy and incandescence while the other was much paler, lacking the rich purple of Pemba. The brighter image watched intently for Jared’s reaction. The other was frozen, mouth agape, eyes askew. Blaine’s eyes caught Jared’s and pulled him to a different vista, paralyzing him, extinguishing the light from the horizon of living stars. Blaine’s focus was on the dark between the light, and now that emptiness was Jared’s. Where Jared’s exposure held beauty and promise, Blaine’s saw only decay. Jared’s slip was not yet a scrabble, but he was sliding against his will. Pemba’s orb seemed to cloud, growing opaque and sticky. But just as quick as Jared was trapped, he was pulled back. Jared blinked away the crusty feel of Blaine’s comatose soul as if wiping away a night’s crusty rheum. With its removal the kaleidoscope sky reemerged. Jared stood next to Pemba. Blaine Harvey, however, had not changed. “Jared, I am surprised,” said Pemba. “You fell into the trap of lost souls. I thought you had more spit and polish than that. You were snared, my friend, and would have stayed so unless I brought you back.” “What’s wrong with Blaine?” “He sees death differently than you. Fear is catching, Jared. Step toward it, and you panic. Blaine’s fear and maybe some of your own pulled you into his spell. To your credit 278

Shadow of The Conjurer you are stronger than him. That probably makes you feel superior. It should. I cannot fathom why you do not understand your attraction.” Jared felt the cold shoulder of a lie. He sensed he was being baited. “Jared, you are tip-toeing through this. You are squeamish.” Jared understood the nature of this universe, the nature of their telepathic talk. He could not afford the indulgence of his true feelings. They might betray him. “Squeamish of what?” “I suggest Jared has had too much Blaine Harvey. And so have I. This will show the depth of my commitment to you.” Pemba indulged his power. His indulgence obviated any thoughts from and of Jared. No chastened guilt, nor any particular care was expended at the act’s initiation. Blaine Harvey had outlasted his usefulness. When Pemba had the thorn, he would do the same to Jared, Pemba’s promises always vacant unless temporarily provided to enhance Pemba’s position. Pemba raised his hands above his head, almost as if a conductor of The Infinitesimal, instead of its gruesome executioner. The power crackled as his orb of power materialized in and around his hands. The maleficent power arched from the globe and attacked Blaine Harvey. Harvey grimaced despite the somnambulant exterior, like a zombie caught in an electrical terminal. Pemba’s power of the spirit world coalesced in a ball that surrounded him. Blaine’s spirit bent like a pretzel. Whip-like tendrils emerged from the globe and darted for Blaine’s breast, tearing away the fabric of his existence, violating his spirit body as they slithered around his torso. They dipped their barbed heads into his belly, digging deeper into Blaine’s interior while flaying his skin with their scourging and lashing motion. Jared did not dare interfere. He had to watch Blaine’s destruction and accept it. As he watched in horror, the embedded tubes pumped viscous poison into Blaine from the energy surrounding his body, the tubes alternately flaring as balls of the wretched material pushed their way inside. In moments Blaine’s body began to expand and twitch. His arms, legs and head flailed with greater and greater force until the tightening of his spirit body and extremities precluded further. At that point the spectral clothes crackled and dissolved. What was left of Blaine split along multiple irregular seams, spitting ectoplasmic goo that caught fire with every eruption of purple pus. Just when Jared thought he would scream, Blaine’s spirit body exploded. Jared looked around for a hold on something, anything as a brace, but no brace was useful. Pemba began the twirl of hands that caused their purple vehicle to spin. The spectral 279

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE universe beyond the globe became soupy. The brightness and colors softened, spun together like taffy which darkened black, then to the lavender, then the purple and elastic hues of Pemba’s orb. With a whiff The Infinitesimal vanished, and the colors coalesced into a purplish outline of the inside of Jared’s car. The opaque purple windows blinked to what they were on this plane of existence, only clear glass. Inside, Pemba Blaine Harvey leaned on the window and waited as Jared McNally came to, slowly shaking the cobwebs from his brain. If Pemba could dance in the car seat, he would. “What do you think, buddy! Toasted him, huh? Bastard won’t bugger your wife any longer. Won’t be buggering anybody! Heh, heh, heh. I needed that, Jared. Yes-sir-ee. Just lights me up inside. By God invigorating. I needed it as much as you.” Then Pemba patted Jared’s arm, pinching him excitedly in the process. He paused. Jared was ashen-faced. “Do I see a little regret?” asked Pemba. “No…I don’t think so.” “You afraid I’ll do it to you?” “I wondered. I’m not sure what I feel. Part of me would be happy to be his torturer in hell.” “Don’t worry. He won’t be missed. You would be. Now friend, what reason do you have for not giving it to me?” Jared’s color paled further with the questions. “You forget. It’s my protection also.” Pemba seemed to shimmer and expand. A glower flashed quickly across his face along with a moment of bubbly skin that threatened to eliminate the comfortable feel of another human before he settled back to a smiling Blaine Harvey. “Well, at least I escaped. Another day without my Koroni won’t hurt. Sleep on it. One last day to see the urgency…and your safety…in trusting me.” Pemba opened the car door, looking up at the sky. The downpour quieted to a drizzle. “Don’t strengthen Jikindi’s hand. The thorn does nothing for you unless I possess it.” Jared watched Pemba disappear in the mass of cars. He opened his car door and retched. When Jared was finished, he wiped his mouth. A need for stability forced him to grip the door firmly, pushing up for a look. Pemba was not in sight. Jared laid his head on the steering wheel and breathed deeply through his mouth to mitigate the taste of the bile. It did not obliterate his fear. A moment later he stuck his head out the door again and launched another stream of acidy puke. 280

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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO Jared could not concentrate at work. How could such mundane activity match what he had seen and experienced this morning? And after what Pemba did to Harvey, he was scared. The soft knock at his door was unnoticed. The second rap brushed at the cobwebs that blinded him to the outside. His secretary, Amy, opened his door and peered inside. “Mr. McNally. Your visitor was insistent.” “What does he want?” “It’s not a he, sir. A Ms. Freeman. She’s from RDEC.” Jared sighed. “Let her in, but continue to hold all of my phone calls.” “Yes, sir.” In slipped a smiling 40tyish woman, Afro-American with close-cropped hair, and large spectacles that matched her meaty shoulders clothed in a flannel sweater. A paw swung to greet McNally. “Thank you for your time, Mr. McNally. Can I close this door?” “Sure, er...ah…Ms. Freeman?” She plopped into one of the upholstered chairs, closest to his desk and to his side, stretching out her feet that were enclosed within thick hiking boots, before slouching forward to directly face Jared. “Yes.” Odd looking woman thought Jared. “I have a couple of minutes. Summarize what you want, and I’ll look at my calendar to see when I can fit you in.” “Jared, two hours ago I was in the woods seventy miles southwest of here. I came to you immediately upon receiving…a signal…that you were in need. I felt your temptation by Pemba. You are in danger, and so am I.” 281

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO Jared’s chair rolled backwards with a creak that ended as the wheels left the surface of his antistatic chair mat. “I’ve been warned about you.” “I have no doubt.” “Please raise your hands. It may seem crazy, but I want to see what is in the pockets of your coat. I’m going to empty them one at a time.” “Jared, really,” said Sarah. “You’re scared. That says everything. I don’t have a hidden gun or a magic wand. I don’t work that way.” Jared rose and cautiously ransacked Sarah’s pockets as she raised her hands, shaking her head in disbelief. “Why didn’t you come weeks ago?” Jared asked. He returned to his chair, apparently satisfied. “He’s powerful enough to keep you from me, to hide his escape. And he’s had time to plan for it.” Sarah leaned on the arms of the chair. “Don’t trust him, Jared. He’s a liar.” “That’s what he said about you. Pemba said you were watching my wife, influencing her.” “How did he get to you, Jared?” “I won’t answer that.” “You should seek answers. What body did he take?” “I can ignore you. I can wait.” “Jared, you stand out. We both found you. If he’s after you, it’s not because you’re body is special, except that it is the key to the thorn. You are in his way. You cannot escape him. And now that my alarm went off, you cannot escape me. That is not a threat. It means I cannot allow you to ignore me. That leads into Pemba’s hand.” “A signal calling you to me? Watching me? How does that comfort me?” “I wasn’t watching you. And the signal was for the protection of the thorn. Where is it?” “Why should I talk to you?” “Pemba is the one you should be uncomfortable with. He tempted you.” “Why should I talk to you?” he asked more forcefully. “Do you love?” Jared was surprised by the unexpected question. “Do I love? Why…how is that relevant?” “Love, not desire, but real empathy, is what is important. He undoubtedly said I was an evil woman, an evil witch. Evil witches only believe love is important as a weapon.” 282

Shadow of The Conjurer “Where is this going?” “I am a witch, but I am not evil. I do not threaten love. I am enlarged, I am strengthened by it. Evil has no room for sharing. Its needs are bottomless. That is Pemba. Someone is lying to you; but your decision affects not only you or me, but those we love.” “I’m a loner.” “Possibly, but that does not mean you do not hope for love, whether for yourself or others. Nor does it mean you are empty of care, of empathy for those whose shoulders you brush every day.” “How can you be so certain?” “Because if you were without such desires, if you were truly as empty as you imply, you would have given Pemba what he wants. The fact you have not done so, despite his false warning of me, strengthens my conviction. All is not lost.” Jared nodded ever so slightly, a cautious ‘I am watching you too’ consent. “Threats from Pemba come from his tongue with ease, whether overt or subtle. Or his threats come as invisible traps, lies to force an opposite action from what he fears.” “And what do you fear, Jikindi?” “Pemba and I both fear the thorn. You knew this fear the moment you recognized me. The difference is I fear its loss. Pemba fears its survival and use.” “Interesting, but Pemba might say the opposite.” “Then that is the crux of the matter and the question you must answer before you know what to do, much less who to trust. The liar cannot help but reveal the lie.” “The chicken or the egg, Jikindi? At the moment I do not trust anyone who asks me about the thorn. Answering who fears its loss may seem logical to you. Its answer is the crux of the matter, but I don’t address it because the catch is that trust must be answered first. The burden of proof is yours, not mine.” “Then, can you tell me how the thorn was unearthed?” The logical Jared reemerged with the question. “Jikindi, powerful Jikindi the witch, knows nothing of how this started?” “No.” “I don’t understand that.” “Jared, I have not been watching you or using your wife. I received a type of telepathic alarm.” “I’m not sure I care whether you use her or not.” “Now I am confused. He told you I am using your wife, and you do not care?” 283

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO “I’m not sure I care about my wife. She…she and Blaine. They are having an affair.” “She and Blaine? Has your wife been acting strangely?” “Sarah, I need to sort through this. You need to leave.” “Jared, your wife is possessed.” “Yes, like I said, Pemba said you were controlling her.” “No, not me. Nika. Nika possesses your wife.” “How…how did you know that name?” “Because Nika was imprisoned in the thorn with Pemba.” “No. No, he said a Muso Koroni was imprisoned with him. Not Nika.” “Muso Koroni? Pemba desires Muso Koroni. However, Muso Koroni does not desire Pemba. Nika, my granddaughter from a previous life, was imprisoned with Pemba.” “Nika? Imprisoned? The diary says nothing about Pemba or you.” “You have Jacob’s diary? Jared, we have made a very important connection.” Jared hesitated. “Too much, Jikindi. Too much for now. You need to leave.” “If you love your wife, be afraid for her. If Nika has her, I must help you get her back.” “Leave now.” “Please, Jared. This is incomplete.” “Leave or I will call the MPs.” Jikindi Sarah pursed her lips, afraid what to say next. Jared Jackrabbit was about to bolt, one too many surprises flushing his fear, and she may not be able to catch him. “Okay, Jared, I will, but I want you to have my business card. My phone numbers are on it.” “I don’t want it.” “You do. You will want it when you have calmed. Pemba and Nika sleep together, but Pemba sleeps with your wife’s shell. My granddaughter is guiding his thrusts. What is your wife’s name?” Jared stood erect and leaned forward, the response flowing from his mouth like a liquid acid-fall. “The cunt’s name is Melissa, but you already know that.” Jikindi Sarah started to deny the accusation. However, she saw something in those eyes that went beyond the vitriol. Her eyebrow rose, and she chose to back away. She placed the card on the corner of Jared’s desk. Then she retreated, unwilling to take her eyes from him. “Call me. I am not the deceiver. Your wife is not a cunt. That is Pemba talking.” “She is!” His open palm slammed the glass on his table. “Someone has to pay!” 284

Shadow of The Conjurer “Then let us pray it is those that deserve it. Goodbye for now.” She studied him as she closed the door softly. Jared sat down loudly. “Someone has to pay!” he said, enjoying the echo as if visualizing its reach in his mind.

J

ikindi Sarah’s image glowed brightly in The Infinitesimal. The green and goldcorniced eyes made contact with some far off ball of afterlife that spewed its mirth in plumes of twinkling dust, almost like the living spores of a mushroom jetting its sooty spore into the air, each granule striving for return to the surface. As she focused, the ball came closer, became sharper, illuminating its enduring and thriving surface and its many cohesive elements of delighted animation. Sarah’s face bathed in the orb’s light. She mouthed a few words and her beckoning hands reached toward the orb. Moments later, an eruption occurred on its surface, a distension like a small volcano newly bubbling from fresh soil. It erupted some of the orb’s occupant cities, one at a time or several at a time, in a simmer of activity with streams of splatters that ran over the protrusion’s sides. Then, as if in response to her entreaties, one of the splatters extracted itself from the lake of afterlife with a plop, coalescing into a bubble that floated above and moved inexorably toward the conjurer. “Good blessings, guardian of the lineage of Mathias and Josey.” “Good blessings to you, Jacob.” “How soon before my Nika is reunited?”

A

t her office Nika Melissa was intrigued by Jared’s desperate phone call. He apologized for his cold and angry response earlier. He pleaded for another attempt at reconciliation. If she would come to their house immediately after hours, without Blaine, he was certain they could work something out. She coyly probed for the reason behind this change of heart though she knew Pemba had shaken him. Jared said he would tell her about it after she arrived. Before hanging up, Nika asked if everything was on the table, including the thorn. Jared reluctantly acceded, so Nika agreed to meet him. In the emerging darkness of the new evening, she pulled into their long asphalt driveway. Jared was waiting, leaning on his Acura. Nika opened her car door, rising from her seat to study him. “Let’s walk to the barn,” said Jared. “It’s not there. I looked.” 285

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO “Mel, can we talk of other things before you hit the repeat button on that?” “Certainly. Why the barn then?” “I thought you might like brushing Savannah Jo. We can talk at the table.” “Ah, s-sure.” They walked down the pathway. Jared slid open the metal door of the barn and turned on the lights. Nika walked inside hesitantly. Savannah Jo munched hay in her stall but acknowledged the couple with a whinny. Nika sat down at the table. “You going to brush your horse?” “I didn’t come here to brush horses.” “But it’s Savannah Jo. You left the house without checking on her water or her food. Left me no instructions for her, nor have you called about her. She’s almost like a child or a sister to you.” “It happened yesterday. What do you expect?” “Don’t know. Maybe some concern. What about your brushes?” “You asked me to come.” Jared eyed her closely, his eyebrows as tight as his lips. “Okay. I’ll brush her.” Nika surveyed the area for her five-gallon bucket. “You were rather more plaintive on the phone. Something change?” “I’m sorry for my outbursts of the last couple of days.” “You said.” She found the bucket near the barn faucet and began slowly filling it, then moved toward the tack room for her grooming brushes. His gaze followed. Nika emerged with a couple. “What’s with the scrutiny, Jared?” “Don’t know where to start.” “I came here for one reason, and it was not because you are sorry for your outbursts. That being said, I agreed to listen to you; so here is your chance.” “I wanted to make sure I knew what I was missing. Make sure I knew who I was giving up.” “You had several years to do that, Jared.” “What if I said I was willing to have a baby, Mel, you know, instead of Blaine.” “I would think about that.” “Would you, Mel? How can you be so enamored with a playful and adventurous Blaine and want a baby too? The messages seem inconsistent.” “Having a baby can be adventurous.” 286

Shadow of The Conjurer “Granted. Maybe what I was grasping was ‘Blaine and baby’ are inconsistent. But you are too, specifically your attitude. Your attitude seems to be inconsistent with raising a child. Who are you, Melissa?” Nika ignored the question. She laid the brushes on the rail next to Savannah Jo and then turned off the faucet. Nika moved back to Jared, closing and gently taking his hand. She sensed opportunity slipping away. “Who do you want me to be?” “Do you want to fuck me, Melissa? Is that what we are going to do here?” “Goodness! What has come over you?” “Are you going to fuck me for the thorn?” Nika dropped his hand and pulled back a step to examine the greater Jared, to digest the direction of the unexpected conversation. She took a moment to respond. Jared did not move and seemed to be digesting her as well. “You’re acting very strange, Jared.” “That would be a switch.” Jared lifted his hands to her blouse, plucking at the buttons, not taking his eyes from hers. Nika raised her arms to surround his waist and lightly pulled him closer. “This is not very comfortable, lover. I don’t like dirt or hay on my back.” “Then leave your shirt on, Mel. I don’t need your tits anyway. Turn around. Lean on the table.” “Well, that is straight to the point.” She complied. Her acceptance was followed by his rough fumbling of the top button on her jeans, then the yanking of her pants that dropped to the dusty floor. “You never wore thong undies for me, Mel.” Jared pulled down his pants. He moved the thong away and took her savagely, movement becoming instant gratification of the animals within their bodies. She reached behind to capture his sweat-seeping rump, beseeching more action. “Jared, where is it?” she asked between the grunts of pleasure that mixed in the air in both sound and smell. His arms moved up her sides to surround her neck. He slouched to dip his nose to her auburn hair, to her oily but fragrant tresses, smell searching for identification. His eyes closed, and his body bent to a final need. “You…don’t need it!” he exclaimed, the release reeling his body and head backwards while his hands pulsed into a vice around her thin neck. She turned and raked his face, bringing the blood with her nails, but he did not stop. “Go to hell,” he whispered. “You fu-ucking cunt. I’ll feed your bones to the fishes again. May your soul crisp darker than your rotten black heart!” 287

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO As Nika Melissa strained to move his hands from her neck, a maniacal delight spread over Jared’s face. It was clear he was enjoying the violence more than the act of pleasure. “Bedevil this, you bitch!” Jared tensed for a neck-breaking action but did not have time as the wood-handled brush broke into pieces over his head. He slumped unconscious to the floor, his naked body landing sideways and raising a fan of barn dust to swirl through the air.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE The light filtered through Jared’s throbbing headache. It was pleasing and soothing, awakening him slowly as if pebbles had curried a stream’s favorite song, played on a harp’s gentle vibrations. Jared was propped by the wide back of a chestnut, an American chestnut before they died out across the woods of North America in the 1900s. One knee was pushed skyward while the other lay in the grass. It was springtime but close to summer, maybe late May or even June. Everything was green. He faced a vegetable garden, a long blade of grass sprouting between his pressing lips, the faint smell of alfalfa in his nose. As his mind came around, he watched a young man holding a basket, examining fruit and vegetables on the vine, appraising each before picking and placing the few that were ripe into his heaping straw bin. The man was at odds, not with his surroundings, but with Jared. The stranger wore funny cotton breeches and a rough sewn long sleeve shirt of some lesser fabric. Mussel-shell buttons held it together. He did not seem hurried, despite Jared’s presence. Close by, an equally unruffled dog lay with Jared, content to sleep out the afternoon sun. In moments the man turned his fresh-looking face toward Jared. He was young, barely on the edge of manhood. He set the basket at the edge of the garden, wiped his brow with his hat, and walked quietly to Jared’s side where without introduction he folded his legs to join Jared at the base of the chestnut. In a moment he was comfortable and placed the hat between a curled leg. He wiped his hands on his shirt and held out a young man’s hand to Jared. The nails were still filled with dirt, but the face welcomed him. “Been expecting you. Welcome to Fiery Hill. I’m Jacob Thompson.”

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P

emba Harvey turned his attention to the gagging woman wilted over the weathered-oak picnic table. He pulled Nika to her feet. She twisted sideways, almost falling from his arms and puked a stream of spit and vomit over Jared’s legs and pants. She jerked from Pemba, pulling on her pants, then kicked Jared in the head, the violence almost causing a stumble. Pemba roared with laughter. “Bad sport, honey. Bad sport! Have the common decency to be careful. Still need him.” She turned her attention to Pemba and shot a driving fist of nails at his face. He caught her easily and took her to him, her butt twitching hard as her arms tensed to push him away. Nika spit her reply. “Fuck you! That bastard almost killed me. Why didn’t you come sooner?” Pemba ignored Nika, whistling at Jared’s stunned form. “I was watching. Wasn’t going to let him kill you. Wow! Did not expect that! Did you? Must hate her miserably. Strange. Killing and fucking. Fucking and killing. Which came first? Taking care of you either way, huh, bitch.” Nika sat down at the table, massaging her neck. “I need to go to the hospital.” “That’s stupid. Want the thorn and his body, not Jared in jail. And he’s not giving it to you.” “You don’t know that for sure.” “Are you blind? He doesn’t trust Melissa. He brought you here to exorcise his own little demon. Probably has a nice little dumping ground already picked out.” “I need to go to the house and lie down.” “You’re just bruised. Wear a high collared shirt to work or call in sick. I don’t care which.” She gave him an aggrieved expression, more from his direction than from the pain. She struggled to her feet. “I’ll make it up to you. Get it together in the car and then head to my place. I’ll catch you up when I return. I don’t want you here when he wakes.”

“W

here am I?” asked Jared.

“It’s my garden at Fiery Hill,” replied Jacob. “Another damn dream.” 290

Shadow of The Conjurer “Yes, it’s mine, Jared. And I like it.” “I met your father. He scares me.” “Look away from him.” “Too late, and he hates you. He erased you.” “No, Jared. He doesn’t have the power. He is a lost and miserable soul. I pity my father.” “He opened my eyes.” “My father sees fog in most things. So what did you see?” “My wife’s betrayal. Jeremiah showed me there was no understanding, only payback.” “Predictable. It’s why he stays. I don’t know which is worse, his delusion he can secure payment for the past or an afterlife in hell.” “Stays?” “Jeremiah does not move on. He is wrapped up in the past. I’m unsure he knows he is supposed to move on. If he did, it’s only a question of how far down he sinks and whether he can ever claw his way back to something happy. He is a ghost, not a true spirit. He’s stuck.” “I read your journal. Whatever drew his wrath was not in it. In fact, your journal did not pitch the personality I saw in Jeremiah’s dream.” “I started the diary when I was young. For my mother. The friction between my father and I was always there. My family was loving though the slow decay eating at its foundation was ignored. The bad seemed normal and was accepted until events broke the lens through which we saw each other. But I do not dwell on that.” “I investigated your family. I discovered you were missing from the family history. Ergo, you were erased.” “A play on words.” “He find out about Nika?” “Yes, but he was at the precipice before then. The news would not have pushed him over if he had opened his eyes earlier.” “Opened his eyes earlier?” “My father was a rigid man. He lived his life within boundaries that were handed down to him from his father. He believed they were morally based. They were to an extent. Jeremiah, like many, maybe most brainwashed souls, made life a set of rules, instead of guidelines. Rules fail. Guidelines based on love do not.” 291

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE “My wife failed both the rules and the guidelines. Of that I have no doubt.” “My father never doubted either.” Jared knotted his brow, the tension playing the landscape. The dream fluttered ever so slightly. Somewhere far off, the faint sound of thunder rolled into range. “Are you defending her?” “Yes, but only to the extent that both of you are accountable. I do not defend actions that are wrong. My father used you for a reprehensible act. It happened because of your inaction.” The scene fluttered again. “Your father is to blame, but really I am because I failed to do something about it. That’s it?” “Melissa was wrong to take up with another man, but that is her part, Jared.” “Her part? Melissa abandoned our marriage long before the thorn.” “As did you. Maybe not in the same manner, but the absence was as harmful to her as her betrayal was to you. One does not wash the other.” “Don’t preach, Jacob. You don’t know what I have been through.” Jacob smiled despite the challenge. “What did I fail to stop?” continued Jared. “Not so much stop. You failed to appreciate your situation, and my father took advantage of it. You were his tool. You will be again if you fail to armor yourself. He used your body in an attempt to get to Nika.” “Used my body?” “Nika possessed Melissa. Jeremiah sensed Nika. He got to you. He tried to strangle Nika from Melissa’s body. Your attempt at murder, guided by Jeremiah, failed.” “What kind of man do you think I am?” asked Jared, the knowledge causing a shift in the world around him. It blurred Jared’s vision, the fleeting thought that maybe he should let Jeremiah do the dirty work. Jared would be absolved, and the pain removed. “You have time to make amends, Jared.” “I’m not sure if I do or if I can. Do you want Nika back?” “When she is complete. Not the one with Pemba.” “Then Jikindi was telling the truth. Pemba is the liar.” He looked at Jacob as if searching for something for himself. “Are you here because of Nika or yourself?” “A happy soul goes forward no matter what. And I am happy.” 292

Shadow of The Conjurer “So you didn’t need her.” “Wrong conclusion, Jared. Wrong because you want to avoid needing anyone. Have you ever read Keats?” “I’m an engineer. Wasn’t my cup of tea.” “But you are a man. Keats wrote: ‘A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.’ Nika enlarges my dreams as Melissa would yours if you let her.” “Why do you want her? She’s with him.” “Not by choice. I’ve moved on. There is nothing to forgive. I am waiting for her to catch up. But you, my friend, you do not forgive Melissa.” Jared did not reply. Some part of him could not release his wife because her betrayal started long ago. Jacob saw the hesitation for what it was. “Jared, I have no magic key. Jikindi knows how to use the thorn’s power if you give it to her. Besides, you did not come to me to learn how to use it.” “Then, I am missing something.” “Definitely. You are here to listen and to avoid becoming Jeremiah. Literally and figuratively.” “I don’t understand.” “You are culpable. Fiery Hill enhances Jeremiah but does not keep him anchored to earth. You could be the son he wanted. Jeremiah is bound to you as long as you act like him and desire the same things.” “I am not like him.” “One of the hardest barriers to change is simply admitting something is wrong.” “And an eighteen year old boy can tell me this?” Jacob’s smile reflected the patience of his dream. “I am a product of a culture and age where slavery was accepted as normal. No moral outrage emerged in the hearts of men 293

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE in my land. It was the way it was. At best Nika’s people were assumed to have better lives under our thumb.” “I need no history lesson.” “Jared, I make a point that it was incredibly hard for me to admit my love for Nika. Family and culture made it impossible to define it overtly. I could not climb that high wall.” Jared listened, even as he discounted. “You read it in the diary. It was the first time Melissa and you spoke my words. I said I could not admit my emotions or my intents to my family, but neither could I admit it to my friends, the only ones I had. The slaves on my father’s property were the only real friends in my life. My dilemma was taking action for them. Maybe the rigidity of my father helped me take the first step, but make no doubt about it. It was the body of love, not just lover, that started the climb. Loving one another may seem overripe because our actions so often contradict it, as individuals or nations. But true friends, true family, help you with the footholds. They carry you on their backs and forgive your missteps, sometimes when it is hard.” Jared blinked as if fearful of the direction of this emotional journey. “Jared, your rigidity, like my father’s, stands in the way of compassion. You are a good man, but your doubts stand in the way.” Jacob turned slightly so that he faced Jared. “I contributed to the perception that my friends, the slaves of Fiery Hill, would always be bound in chains. The greater evil was the culture that allowed it, people who used the Bible and economics to justify it. I was part of that culture of bondage. Changes occur first in individuals. When their cumulative weight is sufficient, it changes a culture. You created your perception. You own it, and only you can change it.” “I know” was Jared’s soft reply. Jacob reached for his shoulder. “Jeremiah will not change, even if he succeeds in his revenge. He will simply move to the next hell. But you have a chance for much more. You and Melissa can be transformed beyond your imagination, even if your differences do not easily allow it.” “I…I’m unsure.” “I died a physical life defending a love that was impossible. I died because, if I did not do so, a monster would use me to corrupt that love. I chose not to allow that. You have to take a stand, Jared. What is left becomes Melissa’s. Afterwards, no matter what happens, you will feel clean. You will have stood for something and for someone. That’s passion. So prepare for your choice.” 294

Shadow of The Conjurer “I don’t know how to succeed against him. I don’t want to die.” “You have help, powerful help. Jikindi knows what to do. The rest you’ll figure out.” “I’m not sure I will, but I should try.” “No, you must try. I know it is a cliché that love requires commitment. And trust. And God knows it is hard to trust with what you’ve been through. But maybe the right word, the first word to remember, is not commitment, is not trust. Maybe the right word is welcome. The parties to love, whether they be lovers, family, or friends, need to feel welcome. It isn’t the word that is important. It is the feeling.” Jacob stood and pulled Jared to his feet. “Is The Infinitesimal heaven? Or is it a dream?” asked Jared. “For the living, dreams are fleeting. Mine are not. Within The Infinitesimal I have my dreams, and they are of a rich brocade. You could not shake my hand otherwise, brother Jared.” And Jacob did so with a smile before he turned back to his garden. Jared took a quick jump and caught Jacob’s arm. “Have you seen God?” “Not yet. But time has no boundary in this place.” Jared’s mind turned from Jacob’s dream of a rich brocade, but its memory went with him.

did so.

A

s Melissa’s car spit gravel from Nika’s wake, Pemba turned to the unconscious Jared McNally. He walked to the bucket of cold water nearby. A second later he emptied the contents over Jared’s head, snickering as he

Jared sputtered and twisted. His hands went to his head. He tried to right himself on an elbow but failed at the ballooning pain, sinking back to the wet dirt. “Tsk, tsk, partner. You were spoiling our plans,” said Pemba Harvey. “What? What are you doing here? Where is Melissa?” “Now he asks. Are you surprised she’s not lying at your feet?” Jared reacted and in the process noted his pants and shorts were wrapped around his ankles. “My clothes…?” Pemba laughed heartily. “You dim-witted idiot! You were porking your wife…in your barn.”

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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE “Mel and I were what? No. I wouldn’t do that. She is…” Jared stammered to a stop. Through the tangles of his memory he grasped his caution. A fuzzy dream caught him. “Where is she?” “I convinced her not to call the police. She went back to my place.” “Police?” Pemba laughed. “You were choking the living daylights out of her, Jared. What were you thinking? She bust your balls, or was that some kind of kinky trend in erotica?” “I remember coming to the barn. I wanted to talk to her. Frankly, away from you. I wanted to see if her story jived with what you told me.” “Whatever. You can thank me later. Lucky for you, I have her boyfriend’s body now. She called me; and I came separately, or you would be facing prison.” “Prison?” “God, weren’t you listening? You were strangling her, Jared. I had to club your ass to the ground, or she would be dead. Literally and finally.” Jared stared to the sky, blinking in disbelief, trying to remember. “She didn’t act like my Mel. Mel wasn’t there.” “Maybe she wasn’t.” “Whoever she was came because of the thorn.” Jared stood with difficulty. After cleaning himself he fastened his khakis and sat at the table. Jared rubbed his scalp and examined his hand to see if he was bloodied. “I’m still light-headed. How did she explain this?” “Said you led her on. Talked her into checking on her horses. A few pleasantries were exchanged. Went over a little divorce stuff, you know, attorneys, money, blah, blah, etc, etc. You both hugged and tossed out some sporting ‘save-face’ type things to ease the transition. She said that led to a goodbye kiss. Then you raped her and tried to kill her.” “What!” “I know. That’s rich.” A pause for contemplation, then right to the point. “Jared, a decision is required, especially after this. You need me, not only to stop Jikindi, but for what I can give you.” Jared examined Pemba’s offer of immortality and saw its fracture. Jared and Melissa would be thrown aside without hesitation. Jared had to trick the body switcher to free his wife. Pemba was so completely self-absorbed that his only barrier to complete unfettered action was his belief that deceit, instead of force, was more useful if it sped the race to his desires for the thorn. 296

Shadow of The Conjurer “I suppose I do.” “Your wish is transparent, but your execution is messy. Melissa isn’t here, and Harvey’s gone. Talk to me. “ “It’s not at my house, Pemba.” The disclosure was not unexpected, but Pemba pressed. “You can have your revenge without Jikindi’s interference.” “Revenge?” “I can give it, Jared, and without the encumbrance of the police or prisons. I gave you Blaine without obligation. I’ll go ‘all in’ to convince you to help me, to give me the thorn that is the key to my and my mate’s safety. I’ll give you Melissa, and a dead body won’t be a problem.” “No body?” “I can destroy her soul, give her body to another. Melissa would never bother you, either in this life or the next.” Jared bit his lip to keep it from trembling. He tightened his eyes and mouth to mask the terror. And he replied as calmly as he could. “I’m not sure.” “You’re half a man until you rid yourself of her. I’ll do it. Just for you. But it’s time for you to give up the thorn, buddy. Now where is it?” “It’s on the Arsenal. It’s at my office.” “Let’s get it, and then I’ll take care of your problem.” “You said you would use Melissa’s body.” “I did.” “Just curious.” “A pure soul will use it, Jared. My Muso Koroni.” “I thought she was lost.” “She is, but I will find her. Until then, Nika will use it.” “Nika?” Jared’s eyes searched Pemba. “Nika of the diary?” “Yeah, I know from Melissa. She told Blaine about the journal.” “Yeah, but, ah, how did you get Nika, and where is she now?” “Long story. We have time later.” “Pemba, security is kind of tight at the Sparkman lately.” “Leave security to me.” “I’m just tired. You’ve waited this long. A little longer won’t matter.” 297

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE “Give me your badge and keys and tell me where it’s at. I’ll save you the trip.” “No. No, can’t do that. They have cameras everywhere. I…I have to be with you.” Pemba’s frustration leaked out. “You don’t know who you are dealing with.” His vulnerability brought him back. “Look, it has to be tonight.” Jared was boxed into a corner. “Okay. I’ll be at the east parking lot at midnight.” “Midnight? Are you kidding? No! Now.” “I know you’re anxious. But to be honest, my nerves are shot. What do you expect?” “Jared, you’re a pussy, but take your fucking nap or whatever.” “And I want to see Melissa one last time. Can you do your thing at my office?” “Anyplace. In a fucking jacuzzi if I have to.” “And Nika?” “Leave that to me. You wanting to finesse Melissa? Let her know what’s coming? That you won?” “Something like that.” “Well, okay then. Let’s do it!” Pemba slapped Jared on the arm and then shook a finger at him. “Be on time, buddy. Bad things can happen if you don’t show up. And don’t pull that Ted Bundy thing again. You may hate her guts. But it’s a bitch when things get out of control.” Pemba winked and walked from the barn. Jared waited for the car to start. He had to call Sarah Freeman. He jogged quickly to the house and jumped in the shower. Five minutes later he put on fresh clothes and reached for his cell phone. He started punching numbers as he walked to the kitchen. The figure at the table startled him. It was Sarah. She had a paper bag in front of her folded arms. “I let myself in, Jared. We don’t have much time.”

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CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR Jared moved quickly to Sarah’s side and pulled the large black woman to her feet, hugging her as her eyes turned from surprise to warmth. In a loving embrace Sarah’s arms surrounded him, slowly encircling and then weaving together, like an octopus in a shallow sea, the knowledge of his choice bringing a much needed smile to her face and hope to her heart. “Sarah or is it Jikindi?” asked Jared as he pulled back, not releasing the safety in her arms. “Both of us are here, Jared.” “So how did you know I was ready?” “I have a connection with Jacob.” “But how did you avoid Pemba? He just left.” “I’ve been close. I saw him and hid in Sarah. We waited for him to leave.” He pulled her to him again and twisted her back and forth fiercely, the fear leaching out in a desperate and unmistakable gush. “Thank you, thank you for Jacob. I avoided telling Pemba the truth, but I don’t know what I would have done if you had not come.” “Sit, Jared. Sit.” She pulled him back to his dining room table, holding his hands. “I have a plan; but before we study it, tell me what has happened.” “Many problems, Jikindi. It’s become so thick with problems, each is tangling with the other. I know to trust you. I know not to trust Pemba. But now his lies, and then my lies. I can’t keep track of them. Melissa is influenced by Pemba or Nika or both. That’s just the beginning. Pemba in Blaine Harvey’s skin just left my house. And I mean skin. Blaine’s gone. Pemba jacked me to The Infinitesimal where he ripped Blaine’s soul apart. It was the scariest thing I ever saw, yet part of me enjoyed it. I don’t like where that came from.” “Slow down, Jared.” 299

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR “Jikindi, I had to pretend it was nothing. And not thirty minutes ago I woke up in a daze with Pemba standing over me. He said he brained me with a brush, knocked me out, because...well, I don’t remember what happened, but he said I was…was…” Jared stalled. “Go on. It’s obviously important.” “He said I tried to murder Melissa.” “Jacob cleared that up.” “Just now? Your connection is that quick?” “Yes.” Jared paused, troubled with his role regardless of Jeremiah. Jacob was right. Jared, the weak son-of-a-bitch he hated, had not looked away. At that point in the barn a bitter Jared McNally wanted a little payback, and he let Jeremiah Thompson act on that thought. “Nika is Melissa. And if that is true, Nika and Melissa, well, she and I or they and I…in the barn. We were being man and wife…if you know what I mean. I just don’t know what to make of it. She wanted the thorn though; and of course, so does Pemba. I stalled. But he wants it at midnight. At my office.” Sarah pondered the news. “He can’t possess you. He can’t even read your mind unless you let him. The thorn’s spell over you will not permit it. But midnight. That’s too soon.” “Is Nika dangerous now? Maybe I did try to kill her.” “Whew. One at a time. I gather Pemba was using this Blaine Harvey? The Blaine your wife was involved with?” “Pemba used his body to get to me. And yes, the one Melissa was involved with. I hated him. But this…” “My faith in you grows before we even start. You feel for your enemy. That is a sign of a man with love in his heart. And love carries us well to the next life. Blaine has left our ability to bring him back. Mangala has him now. It is not yours to worry.” “Mangala? Someone else we have to worry about?” “It is God, Jared. Our Father.” Jared pulled up to stare at Jikindi. “Jacob lives in The Infinitesimal. He said he had not met God.” “Meeting and knowing are two different things. Just believe in his message.” “You body switched often. You must be very old. I concluded you are Muso of the diary.” 300

Shadow of The Conjurer “Bravo. I hoped against Pemba’s return; but in my heart, I knew he would. I captured him in the thorn, but only with consequences. Nika was turned to him.” “My Mel is inhabited by an evil Nika? That might explain why I tried to kill her. Sorry. I was not myself.” “I know.” “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Nika went with Pemba willingly?” “Not like you think. I could not prevent Pemba from stealing her, so with a powerful spell I split her soul into light and dark. He has her dark side, a side all of us hide and subvert but share, that caters to our baser inclinations and whims.” “You can do that? Split a soul?” “I should not do it. In doing so, it places the whole in jeopardy. But I could not leave my granddaughter alone with that monster. Only the dark part could survive with him. The balance of her soul is hidden.” “I’m missing something. Does your plan include bringing Nika together?” “Hopefully, yes. I do not wish to lose her…as I lost my daughter, her mother.” “Pemba destroyed your daughter’s soul?” “Yes, but I was his vehicle. Mangala help me; but I knew what was happening, what I was doing, and I did not change my path until it was too late. That sad episode resulted in the only outcome my daughter hoped for. It changed me for the better.” “What do you mean, Jikindi?” “I was a black witch, but now I walk a clearer path.” “I wish I could say the same.” “You saw Blaine. You understand the risk. I do not abandon those who choose difficulty in the face of losing their soul and their wife’s.” “And does that include Sarah?” “Yes. I swore to protect the line of Mathias and Josey.” “The line? Sarah is their descendent? Is that how you waited for him?” She nodded.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR The Road to Fiery Hill from Huntsville – June, 1837

T

he buzzard had been circling in the winds overhead, searching with its nose for the smell of decay and food. Now, it watched the events below from a branch and belched a noxious spray of foul material from its beak. Then it wiped its horny bill with a tuck to its wing. The man slowly moved the woman’s body away from the scene of her death. As the corpse was moved below the buzzard, a burst of green-tinged energy popped from the body, momentarily blinding Solomon who thought the sun bright today. ‘A good omen’ he thought. The buzzard beat its wings loudly, the act causing the man to look up and swear. Then, the bird took to the air. Instead of circling and creating a stir for its airy brethren, the bird flew eastward along the road to the ferry. It spotted an old man with a black slave roped to the horse’s pommel and to the far northern horizon a sleepy town. The gray smoke from its many chimneys coiled into the air, a cabin here and there on the way adding its own charcoal smell into the nostrils of the bird. The buzzard flew over the river toward Huntsville, passing the town, and flying east several miles. She noted movement along the shallow river. Its excellent sight along with sharp olfactory senses helped it close the distance. Just above the treetops the outline of the fox scurried through the forest floor. The buzzard’s eyes followed the fox through the obstacle course of tree branches that criss-crossed the forest glade and its fragrant sky. The fox also spotted the bird and moved hurriedly to a rocky outcropping in a small rise near a rutted road. Against her normally fearful instincts, she suddenly darted out and slid beneath the branch upon which sat the ugly and smelly bird. They stared at each other. Then the fox seemed to wag its tail at the bird in a goodbye and took off in a run along the road. The little fox arrived at Fiery Hill and darted to the slave quarters where she hid under the porch of one of the shanties. Josey emerged from her cabin. She demonstrated no surprise when the little canine walked out. Josey sat down on a worn wooden step and faced the fox, nodding an assent despite the troubling news.

“W 302

hat does Sarah know about you?” asked Jared.

Shadow of The Conjurer “Sarah Freeman is aware of me, but I speak sparingly to my hosts. A person should have their own life and their own choices. Sarah Thompson, Jacob’s mother, is her namesake. Both good and tough women.” “Remember I told Pemba I would meet him at midnight.” “You won’t. We need more time.” “He’ll find me if I don’t show and do the same to me that he did to Blaine.” “I have no doubt he plans the same for you. But showing up at midnight plays into his hand. We cannot do that. He won’t find you until we want him to. You have no color.” “Color?” “The birth of your color is at your physical death, Jared. I was born into my color and hue at birth. It defined me as a witch. Pemba smells color. The fact that he has not found me suggests he believes me dead and moved on, beyond his reach.” “No, Pemba believes you alive. He suggested it several times.” “His retribution moved him to follow my trail from Africa to America in the age of the slave. What does your logic say to that?” “He said you were his greatest enemy. If he knew you were alive today, I suppose you would never have knocked on my office door.” “Yes. Had he smelled me, he would have made quick work of me. He believes I died a slave. He uses me only to scare you. He may be uncertain of my location, either in this life or the next, but it is a secret for the moment. My secret is our surprise and our strength. It gains us a small but critical amount of leverage.” “Plus we know when he’s close since you smell him.” “No. He is not human.” “Then, how did you know when he appeared?” “My alarm was keyed to Nika. I assumed they would be together. Koroni’s spell brought me to you.” “But you didn’t come at when they were released.” “Pemba somehow masked their escape. But your temptation awoke Koroni’s spell. Don’t worry. When we recover the thorn, our vulnerability will not become a problem.” “So your plan?” “Pemba will have more caution when he is surrounded by others. Not that he cannot handle a number of people at once, but he will be watchful. He and Nika want your identities as well as your bodies. Your difficulty will be holding him off while I am away.” “You’re leaving? Are you crazy?” 303

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR “You cannot go where I go, Jared. Only Muso Koroni has the power to stop Pemba. And she is hiding in a cell of her own choice. The only way to that distant place is through the thorn. I must go there and bring her back.” Jared paced the floor of the kitchen. Jikindi let him. Jared must understand he has no other choice unless he submits to the demon’s unlikely grace. To his credit he faced his fears. Before this last day he would have fainted or his logical mind would have locked up, unable to do anything other than ignore the train coming at him. He pulled a glass from the cabinet, opened the refrigerator door, and pulled out a beer. “No hard stuff, but I need something to help this go down. So the thorn was not only Pemba’s prison, but it is Muso Koroni’s?” “Yes. She built the thorn from the seed of The Infinitesimal as only an entity with great power could. She thanked me when she was done and presented the thorn to me and my twin brother, Baaku, who was also a conjurer.” “You had a twin brother?” Jikindi nodded. “Why did she thank you? She created the thorn.” “For my belief in her innate goodness. Until then she was coupled with Pemba in every way.” “Every way?” “Yes, Muso Koroni was Pemba’s lover as well as his twin.” “You’ve got to tell me that story later.” “Suffice to say I turned her from the dark side. We could not turn Pemba. So Muso Koroni put him to sleep and into a dream because she could no longer murder and manipulate. She could not kill her brother though he deserved to die.” “Is that when Pemba and Nika were imprisoned?” “No, I did that with the thorn at Magnolia Grove in 1837. Before that, in Africa, Muso Koroni ensnared Pemba in The Infinitesimal within a bright splatter of afterlife. She hoped that exposure to the light would change him.” “I have lessons to learn? How did that work for you?” “Not well of course. But for a measurable and happy time it did. Pemba was unaware he was imprisoned. He accepted and enjoyed our deception, and the experience seemed to make a difference. In the end Pemba awoke to the deception, and he threw away his chance for redemption. In the process most of my family died. Only Nika survived…and the thorn.” 304

Shadow of The Conjurer “I don’t understand giving him the chance. You had the thorn.” “Muso Koroni had to try love before she could give punishment.” “He’s too dangerous. He proved it.” “Forgiveness is a daily work in progress. You will discover that one of these days, Jared.” “So how did Muso Koroni end up in the thorn?” “Upon placing her brother into the dream, she desired her spirit death, but I would not give it though the thorn made it possible. She was sad at my choice. She wanted the true death, but I told her guilt was speaking. Give it time, and it would go away. So Koroni modified the thorn. She made it into an abbey, a prison for her removal from the world, a place for penance. She made me promise to never see her again. I agreed, but I expected her to return once she felt atonement’s brush. It was best not to press.” “Then how does the thorn act as Pemba’s prison, and how does he not know Koroni is within?” “The thorn prison is a vast maze. It is segmented, each segment wholly insulated from the other segments, wholly insulated from The Infinitesimal though it is part of The Infinitesimal. Koroni plucked a dark spot for her own, one that was closed except to me, the jailer. Blood made it strong, Muso Koroni’s spirit blood. But blood was also the thorn’s vulnerability. So Muso Koroni placed the thorn within a leather bag surrounded by the chemicals of life.” “I think I know. The placental-based material?” “Yes. It is a magical analogy for The Infinitesimal, that life always has a rebirth. Muso Koroni said the bag would hide the thorn. The silver combined with the blood-based placenta of ancient conjurers as a kind of screen to the outside. And the thorn protects the owner. The talisman protects you, Jared, wherever you are though it is stronger the nearer you keep it. Pemba cannot enter you, cannot control you unless you will it.” “Are you sure you know what you are doing?” Sarah smiled. It was better than crying or panicking. “No, Jared, I am uncertain of anything other than our only chance at survival is with the help of Muso Koroni.” “So when will you be back?” “In The Infinitesimal time is without boundaries.” “God! How long?” “I plan on returning by the time you call him to your office.” 305

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR Jared sighed a relief. “Good. Good. Why did you scare me? You said I had to hold him off.” Jikindi bit her lip. “I have not talked to Muso Koroni since her self-imposed absence. I don’t know how long it will take to find her, much less whether she will see me so I can talk her into returning.” “That is not acceptable.” “It may take me awhile, Jared. But when I finish, even if it were weeks in thorn time, I could return a second after starting.” “Could? Or will?” “I can’t say. I can say that the time in your office will be gauged as closely as possible.” “Or it might be several days from now or even next month, and Melissa and I would be gone as if we never existed. Like I said, this is unacceptable.” “Trust me that I know this, that I know Muso Koroni, that her journey and mine are not complete. Pemba will fail.” “And if I don’t trust you. What?” “You must, Jared. It is the only way; and you know it not only in that steel trap logic of yours, but also in your heart. If I fail, we both fail. If I don’t try or if you don’t try, we fail also.” Jared pulled his arms together, one hand holding its opposite limb strongly in a vise, steeling his heart, the fear flooding him like rain in a dry gulch. “You are right of course. And so was Jacob. I have to stand for something. Otherwise, I am a coward unworthy of life or love. God help us, Jikindi. God help us.” Jikindi Sarah took Jared’s hands into her own, then kissed him on the cheek and whispered into his ear. “He will, Jared. Regardless, we both stand for something together, or we fall together.” Jared trembled a little, understandable. Then he chugged the beer, wiping his face. “Wish I could afford a double shot of Jack Daniels.” “You don’t need whiskey to be brave, Jared. You have already demonstrated that. Besides, I have something else in this bag.” “Some kind of ecto-thingamajig shotgun that I can blow his brains out with?” Jikindi laughed. “No, silly. This is not a Hollywood movie. Odd memory from Sarah, but an appropriate analogy; for in effect, I do have something that will affect their minds.” 306

Shadow of The Conjurer “We need a miracle.” “I don’t want to get too technical. Let me simply say that Pemba and Nika are able to override the brains of their victims. They are like cocaine. They shock the victim, not by torture, but through pleasure. They override the brain’s receptors. They over stimulate them. But the key is they do it indirectly by either increasing dopamine or by precluding the natural escape of dopamine through a process called dopamine reuptake.” “You are losing me, Jikindi, or Sarah is, one or the other.” “Having a victim’s memories, in this case Sarah the biochemist, is a good defense, Jared.” “I understand override and over stimulation, but not the rest.” “Dopamine and epinephrine, or adrenaline as it is more popularly known, are catecholamines. They are the chemicals in the brain that affect pleasure and reward function, memory, and a host of other diverse functions. They stimulate the brain’s receptors. You think the drugs do the stimulation, that the meth or cocaine give the pleasure. It’s not. It’s the dopamine or another catecholamine. The meth and cocaine enable the dopamine.” “So how does that help?” “We do not want to help Pemba or Nika stimulate their victims. We want to do the opposite.” “Ah…yeah. So how do I do that?” “I want to desensitize the receptors in their brains. You will give them a dopamine antagonist, a Mickey Finn, Jared. It will have the opposite effect of a stimulant, and it will do it in minutes.” “What’s in it?” “It’s my own concoction. I use plant extracts and compounds. Some chemicals, crystal and oil-based. I have a small lab at home. The compound I made is water soluble that binds to plasma proteins, meaning it can travel in the bloodstream after it is ingested.” “I’m going to put them to sleep?” “Not really. I want them awake but fuzzy. And I don’t want them stoned out of their gourd. I don’t want them to realize they took the mickey.” “And assuming they will take it, I’ll get to that in a moment, why would I not want to put them to sleep for about a hundred years, at least until you show up with the cavalry?” “I guess I should tell you.” 307

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR “I am really tired of surprises.” “This is preparation, Jared. The drug will work, certainly on Nika in your wife’s body. However, Pemba can possess multiple bodies at once and influence many more.” “What do you mean multiple?” “He can possess a male, more than one at a time though it dilutes his control. A female possession is even possible for him, but with very difficult control. The catch is the influence part, not possession. He can influence without possession. And he can influence a large group of people at one time.” “Good God, Jikindi, more reason to put him to sleep!” “You don’t understand. As soon as he recognizes he is inhibited, he will move to another body. Pemba can’t realize we are playing him, Jared. We can’t put him to sleep because he will know. And he’ll act.” “Well, isn’t this a fine mess. How about we address the ‘get the shit in their veins without them knowing about it’ part.” “You get them to eat it.” “Well, that is a relief. I don’t have to put my arm around them and stab them with a syringe with the other. I just have to invite them over for coffee and sweets. We sit and wolf down some laced cookies, enjoy a few stories about shagging one another, and there we are.” “I didn’t say it was perfect.” “Of course it isn’t. I give him the finger and forget his not-so-subtle direction to meet him at midnight. Afterwards, Pemba won’t touch anything I have to offer. I’m probably better off with a couple of syringes.” “Of course Pemba will be angry. But that doesn’t mean he won’t listen. You told him you did not want to meet at midnight.” “When I don’t show, he’ll come to my house.” “Where you won’t be. He’ll be with Nika. Call him on Melissa’s cell phone in the morning. Have them meet you at the office.” “And if they don’t agree?” “You hold the cards. They’ll come for the thorn.” “He won’t trust I even have the damn thing!” “Of course he won’t, but he has no choice. His charade is because of the thorn. As long as Pemba does not have it, he will do what we say.” “But they won’t take the mickey, Jikindi.” 308

Shadow of The Conjurer “Let me tell you about Pemba, Jared. Pleasure comes in many forms for him. His nature is so powerful that if he sees something that gives him pleasure, he takes it. That includes food. Has Melissa been eating well lately?” Jared twisted his head slightly and nodded. “Now that you mention it, Mel used to eat like a bird, just pecked. Since the craziness, she puts it away. I thought she was nervous. That was Nika?” “Yes, Nika or Pemba’s influence. Be casual. Apologize. Profusely, if necessary. Tell him you were scared. He’ll believe that. It feeds his ego.” “And then what?” “Your office. Lay these out conspicuously.” Jikindi Sarah opened the large paper bag and pulled out a plastic container. It held several dark chocolate candies and a handful of moist cakes. “You are sure he likes, no, loves chocolate.” “Of course, Jared. Should that not be obvious by now? Pemba loves the taste of chocolate almost exclusively, whether fondling them with his mouth or his privates.” “I deserve that. But I mean it this time. Are you sure he will eat these?” “I am absolutely certain, Jared. And it should slow his reflexes. Make it harder for him to aim so to speak. But to entice them, you eat a couple of the chocolates with the light brown twist on top. They don’t have the chemical in them. He’ll try all of them. He can’t keep from it.” “You said a crowd will make him cautious. So how is a crowd going to affect Muso Koroni if she returns? Will she still do her hocus pocus?” “Whatever she does will be done with caution. I will tell her what to expect. You must remember for her, this modern world was undreamt of. She won’t understand until she gets here. But I believe she can ignore the strangeness and do what must be done.” “Okay. I’ll take my leap of faith, conjurer.” “And one more thing, Jared.” “What’s one more. Go ahead.” “Your wife and Nika. The drug is as much for them as Pemba. Maybe more so. When I return, I will return with my granddaughter’s doppelganger. They must be reunited. The drug will make the process easier. Dark Nika will be unable to use your wife as shelter if her physical mind is foggy. To reunite her with her sister, I must take them both to The Infinitesimal while Koroni is occupied with Pemba.” “Okay. So?” 309

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR “Our bodies have died their physical death. Nika and I must move on, but only if I save her. I must save my granddaughter to amend for the death of my daughter’s soul.” Jared did not immediately respond. Jikindi was leaving the physical world. Nika too. Only Sarah and Melissa would remain. After what Jared experienced, death was changed. So was life. Though Dark Nika took Melissa, that fact did not erase Jared’s emotional abandonment of his wife. He would fight for Melissa and accept the repercussions. “We should remove the thorn before Pemba shows up,” said Jared. “It’s eight o’clock. We need to be there by ten to be out before Pemba arrives. We have some time before then. Maybe you can tell me part of your story.” “Maybe a bit. The parts that matter at least, but not until I show you this.” Jikindi reached into the paper bag and smiled.

T

hey drove Sarah’s car. The ride to Redstone Arsenal was quiet. From time to time they would glace at each other to look for a glimmer of their thoughts as they passed the pale illumination of streetlights. As they exited the interstate for the Arsenal, Jared reached over and gently gripped Jikindi’s hand as it lay quietly on the stick shift. They would be here all night. Sarah used a laboratory a mile away from the Sparkman Complex, but her Sparkman office was more convenient. They would have privacy. The complex was several buildings connected in an oval. Jared’s office was in the building on the east end while Sarah’s was on the northwest. They parked on the fringe to be less obvious. Minutes later they slid their badges through the door reader. The mag lock thudded open, and the doors unfurled. They walked briskly through the vacant halls to the opposite side of the complex where they rode the elevator to Jared’s office on the third floor. Jared and Jikindi turned the corner as Jared looked for his office key. The loud banging caught their attention, and in that moment Jared was very thankful for carpet. The sound was coming from his office. Jared stopped Jikindi with his right hand and pushed her backward and beyond the line of sight of anyone from the direction of the noise. Jared whispered in a low voice below the muffled closing of drawers. “Pemba and others. I’m afraid to check. What do you think we should do?” “Did you see him?” “No. But there’s no other explanation.” “Let me look.” “You said he could smell you. Don’t push it.” 310

Shadow of The Conjurer “We can’t afford not to investigate. He’ll be preoccupied.” Jikindi peeked around the corner. The office area was an open bullpen with modules of desks filled with computers and stacks of papers, some modules disorganized while other were meticulously clean, awaiting their fastidious owners. In front of her, forming the right hand wall was the row of management offices which included Jared’s. Jikindi scrambled softly for the row of modules that were within earshot of the activity. She hid by the module’s outer wall where she heard the voices. It was Pemba Harvey with Nika Melissa and a security guard. “Mr. Harvey, I must report back within ten minutes, or two guards will come looking for me.” “You will leave when I say you will,” said Pemba. “I can handle another two guards. Continue looking.” “Mr. Harvey, three guards missing will bring a contingent of MPs.” “Did you search the cabinets in front of his office?” asked Nika. “Mr. Harvey, three guards missing will bring a contingent of MPs.” “Master, you have dumbed him down to influence him. He’s warning you for your own good. We cannot afford any trouble. We should wait for Jared.” “We’ve been here an hour and checked every drawer, every file, even the panels to the ductwork. That son-of-a-bitch is lying. I don’t know what his game is, but he is holding back.” “And you can’t just rush his mind?” “Mr. Harvey, three guards missing will bring a contingent of MPs. Three guards missing will bring a contingent of MPs. Three…” Pemba waved his hand with a bare sense of frustration. The guard dropped to the floor in a faint. “Now you’ve done it. You should have let him leave.” “I’ll bring him around. Quit worrying about minor irritations.” “Have you tried everything possible to take Jared’s mind?” “Of course. I tried at the house. I tried in The Infinitesimal. His mind is walled from my interference.” “Then you have your answer. We need his cooperation. We need to clean up the office before he returns.” “Maybe you’re right.” “Let’s hurry. We have time to get a bite to eat.” 311

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR Pemba looked at his watch. “I think we should wait here. It’s only a couple of hours.” “I’m starving, and they serve breakfast 24 hours a day.” “I’m not in the mood for breakfast,” retorted Pemba. “They have ribs. And chess pie.” Pemba blinked, the slip of his tongue balming the outside surface of his lip. “You know it will calm your nerves. We will be back by eleven thirty.” “I don’t know why I listen to you. But we’ll bring it back here to save time.” He waved his hand again. The guard stirred and twitched on the floor. Nika Melissa pulled the man to his feet. The guard straightened. “Mr. Harvey, three guards missing will bring a contingent of MPs.” “I know. Check in at your post. Make an excuse if necessary, but say or do nothing else.” “Yes, Mr. Harvey,” replied the guard, almost saluting as he walked away. Pemba and Nika returned to Jared’s office. The guard turned the corner and passed in front of the horrified Jared McNally. The guard did what he was told and nothing more. Jared hugged the wall and watched the guard go to the elevators. He was gone in a moment. Sarah emerged from the corner, pulling Jared to the stairs. Jared closed the staircase door softly and turned with Jikindi to lope down the steps. On the first floor he stopped her with a tug. “So what is going on?” “We wait until they leave. They will be gone in a few minutes.” “They’re not waiting?” “No. A bite to eat.” “With everything at stake?” “I know it’s strange, but Pemba is impulsive. Now, so is Nika. Waiting is not his strong suit.” “Great! To our benefit.” “I’m glad, but it’s odd, Jared. They should have found it.” “It’s in the back of one my personal files. I locked it.” “A security cabinet?” asked Jikindi, knowing the combination locks could not be accessed by a guard. 312

Shadow of The Conjurer “No. I’m not supposed to put personal items in a security cabinet. Beside, others would have the combination. The thorn is in a locked drawer at my desk.” “Jared, a guard could get into that.” “I don’t think so.” “Jared, you’re normally very logical about all of this. You would not have endangered the thorn.” Jared looked blankly at Jikindi. “Let’s go see.” “The thorn protects its owner, but it also protects itself, Jared.” “What do you mean?” “I’ll find it if you let me.” “It’s in the drawer.” “No, Jared. Its location is in your mind. You forgot. It was not in the thorn’s interest to let you remember. Thank Mangala you did not let Pemba into your memories, but you have to let me in.” “Oh.” A pause. “I don’t like someone in my mind.” “I know. I really do, but this requires your assent,” persisted Jikindi. “You said you can’t possess a male.” “I can’t. I’m not talking about possession. I just want a look.” “Okay,” he said, not sure if he believed it was okay, but knowing he must agree. “Lean back against the wall and relax. Clear your mind.” Jikindi stroked his brow, the tips of her fingers caressing while her thumbs gently touched each side of the bridge of his nose. With soft liquid movement her fingers moved to his temples. She closed her eyes. The staircase seemed to dim, a soft green slowly descending as Jared slipped to the floor in a trance. A laugh broke Jared’s sleep. He opened his eyes to see Jikindi Sarah clapping her hands and moving them to cover her mouth as she chuckled. “Oh, Jared. You are precious, and Muso Koroni is so wise.” Jared pulled himself from the stairs to a stance. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Where is it?” “Muso Koroni left my imprint in the thorn. You hid it in my office, Jared. It’s already there. It was there before you met me.” “How?” “My color, remember? It’s a tag. The thorn used you and tracked my color.” 313

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR “Then let’s send you on your way. It’s a good sign.” “Yes, it is.” Jikindi took the time to hug her partner excitedly. She took his elbow as they reentered the halls of the complex. “You have your excuse for failing to show.” “Huh?” “Your office. No way Pemba and Nika put it back the way it was. In hurrying, Pemba shot himself in the foot. You tell him you got there early. Things were missing and you had second thoughts after realizing Pemba was checking up on you. You’ll do it, but in the morning when your office is filled with witnesses.” “Of course. He’ll be pissed, but he’ll know he caused me to scoot. I love it.” They hastily moved through the halls, almost dancing as if walking the yellow brick road.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE Jared and Jikindi drew the blinds in Sarah’s locked office and turned on a single desk lamp for illumination. They hovered over a corner drawer, opened to reveal various small containers of foodstuffs, cups and saucers, and plastic spoons and forks. This was Sarah’s larder, the little stash of secret pick-me-ups folks need for stress at the office. Jikindi pushed away the small cans of tuna and bags of crackers, trail mix, and candies. Behind them all, underneath a small towel was a red plastic container, empty of its coffee, but hiding the treasure. “Why didn’t you smell it, or whatever it is you do?” “I said it is our spirit color that has a smell or a taste. I perceive its flavor and scent as clearly as you know one friend from another. The thorn is not a spirit.” “But it was created by Muso Koroni.” “Neither Pemba nor Koroni have a smell. The thorn’s creation from Koroni’s alien blood holds the same properties as its master. And the thorn is simply a portal to another place.” “Alien blood?” “Other worldly. Another dimension. Who knows? They do not know themselves. But Koroni washed the thorn in her essence, in effect her blood. They are properties I cannot fathom.” “Wow. Some smart guys would love to check that out.” “Would be rather hard to hold onto a pulse of living energy, don’t you think?” Jikindi pried off the plastic lid and held its basin to the desk lamp. “At last!” Jared recognized the small leather bag, torn but supple once again. “I tested the material inside. I hope that doesn’t affect its use.” 315

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE “No. The silver and placental emulsion mask the cold dimension on the other side.” “The cold? You know why it is cold around the bag?” “Not around the bag. The dimension. Wait.” She removed the bag and paused to roll it in her hands before she opened it to remove the thorn. Jikindi whispered a silent prayer as she held the thorn before her eyes, a silver sparkle twinkling from its sheen. “Now it begins.” “I dread this, Jikindi, but it is also a relief. What about the cold?” “The thorn was separated from the bag. Its absence ripped a hole into the other dimension. The dimension of the thorn is dark and cold. It is devoid of color, its boundaries and content austere.” “I thought the thorn was some kind of dimensional prison.” “The thorn is the door, a movable door. I enter it here, and it tunnels elsewhere. The dimension of the thorn remains poised within a dark spot of The Infinitesimal, fixed just beyond the jailer’s remains.” “Jailer’s?” “I said more than once I am the jailer.” “The grave. The grave is Muso’s of the diary?” “Yes, as well as another’s.” Fiery Hill Plantation – September, 1837

I

t started with a night of revelry. Solomon used his newfound authority for pleasure. They were afraid of him. He enjoyed that and everything that came with it. Nonetheless, through the drunken mist jabbed the ugly head of guilt. He spent an enjoyable evening that ended with the two slave girls at his side and on his bed, but their eyes reflected only Mathias. When Solomon needed his release, Mathias stopped him. Solomon tried to force him from his mind; but no matter how pleasurable the stroke, he could not perform. The fire in his chimney reflected off the failure painted on his sweaty face. He gave up and dismissed the women. Solomon stumbled to his fine oak chair and plopped into it with tired mind and limbs. He picked up his secret jug of whiskey and drew it to his lips. Couldn’t that African have gone someplace else he asked the gods of wishful thinking, instead of polluting his life and the life of this plantation? He pulled himself from tired complacency and walked out of his dusty cabin, walking to another shanty on Fiery Hill’s dusty slave quarter road. 316

Shadow of The Conjurer The candlelight illuminated the fractures in the door of Josey’s cabin. The quiet but audible sounds within betrayed her wakeful attention of Mathias. Solomon would not ask for her permission to enter, but the creaking of her steps revealed his approach. She turned from washing Mathias’ back with the fragrant oils and moved to her door where she saw Solomon approaching. She opened the door to oppose the new overseer of Fiery Hill. “Don’t come in here, you devil!” “Josey, I need to talk to Mathias.” “No, you don’t. He had ‘nough of you already.” “It not what you think, girl.” “Whip or no whip, it don’t matter, oversee-er. Stay away from my man.” “I…I’m sorry, Josey. I deserve that. I don’t mean harm. Surely, I don’t. Mathias want ta’ hear this. It about Jacob. Nika too.” Josey paused. “You tell me. I tell Mathias.” “No. I can’t tell anyone else. It too dangerous.” “Then why tell it to us?” “Mathias their friend. They want him ta’ know.” “You have two choices. Either leave and don’t come back or enter and tell us both. Choose.” Solomon reached for her door, the sour whiskey reek floating through the air in his woozy reply. “I’ll tell you both.” Josey turned sideways to avoid his touch, her hand swooshing the air of his foul breath in his passing. “What you want of me?” Mathias asked, anger raising red welts in his voice. “You feeling better, Mathias? Been over a month now.” “Been worse as you know.” “Yes, I know. I had no choice.” “I don’t know that.” “Better for you. Better for all us I do what had ta’ be done. I stop before it kill you. Angry white overseer wouldn’t. He just finish the job. Say it God’s decision, not his lash.” “Say what you gotta say, and then leave us be.” Josey took Mathias’ hand in a united front against their oppressor. “I got ta’ sit, Josey. I don’t feel so good,” said Solomon. Josey pulled a cane chair from her shabby table and pushed Solomon into it. 317

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE “Thank you, Josey.” “You not welcome. What news of Nika and Jacob you have?” Solomon wiped his wiry unshaven face, a buried part of him unsure it was wise to tell Mathias, contemplating whether he should tell another slave, one he could control. But witches won out again. They would favor him with their absence if he told their friends. Not so certain if he held back. “Master Jeremiah didn’t want Jacob buried in their family place,” said Solomon. “You stupid man! Everyone know that now,” retorted Josey. “Yes. But you don’t know where he’s at. I do.” “So what you want us ta’ do about it, nigger?” Josey was ready to smack the man, knew he was too drunk to respond; but Mathias stretched his hand from the bed and gently pulled at her balled fist. “Let him talk.” “Master Jeremiah say never tell him where Jacob’s body lie. He told me ta’ dispose of it. On Fiery Hill land he say. But if I ever tell him where the body lie, he flay me ta’ an inch of my life.” “Then don’t tell me, you black bastard. ‘Cause I go tell him first thing. I wants to see you take the whip like my Mathias do!” “Not good, Josey. Not good. Hate my guts if you want, but I’m the only thing standing between all us and that devil. Mathias tell ya’. Jeremiah changed man. His hate burn. He don’t want Sarah’s bed. He don’t care nothin’ about nobody. You best not turn your back on your best protection.” “He’s right, Josey. We can’t tell Jeremiah, ever,” said Mathias firmly. “How we trust this man, Mathias?” “We don’t; but neither will anyone else, will they, Solomon? They fear you, but they’ll be our eyes and ears. You don’t have one friend on this property, not even Jeremiah. And worse, through that drunken fog of yours, you know it too.” “I came to you out of friendship, Mathias. What you do, throwing all this at me? I had no choice!” “You keep saying that, Solomon. Maybe you believe it, but maybe you see differently too. Maybe you see the truth you a coward,” responded Mathias. “I is the coward who will keep us alive!” “Maybe, Solomon, but we’ll be watchin’ close. Now where is Jacob?” “You know that creek that empty into the crook in the Flint?” 318

Shadow of The Conjurer “Yes, Jacob and I used to fish for catfish there. It narrows near the river.” “West of the crook on the north side of the Flint, there a slight rise with some heavy timber. Big oak’s at the top.” “I remember.” “I pile some big rocks ‘round the body near that tree. No wolves get that body, but the river might. Rain start in another month. Might move the body downstream. Never find it if it do.” “You givin’ me approval to move him?” “When you can. When that be, you think?” Mathias looked at Josey, but she replied for him, knowing he would try too soon. “Jacob safe for awhile. Mathias not. He do it before the rain, Solomon.” Solomon nodded in agreement. “When you move’em, don’t tell me where. Jeremiah ask me; or he find out for whatever reason, I know nothin’. You hear? Nothin.” “Gladly, Solomon. Now what about Nika? Master said feed her to the fishes.” “I saw what happen at the party. All them witchy lights. Witch claim Jacob’s soul with that flesh of hers. Don’t want Nika to grab me from a fishy grave. I put her elsewhere. But we can’t get her.” “Why not?” “Now who stupid? You were there. You think the Mas’r goin’ ta’ give us a pass to get her off that bluff she on by the Tennessee? You think I goin’ ta’ let him know I didn’t do what he told me ta’ do? Buzzards watching over her grave now, but she knows Solomon do her right.” “Then Nika will have to wait,” said Mathias. “But Jacob don’t. And neither one of them deserve what they got. I’ll take care of it, Solomon. We ever find suit not to count on you, you remember your lack of friends. You hear that?” Solomon nodded and rose from the shaky chair. He wandered to the fractured door and opened it, peaceful sleep now possible. Without turning to Josey and Mathias, he stopped. “I’m truly sorry. I am, Mathias. Don’t want your forgiveness. But scared is as scared should be. Hope one day you understand.” Then he walked down the creaky steps, followed by a soft thud of boots on dirt. A few weeks later, on a misty but cool October night, a lantern held by Josey illuminated the slave cemetery in pale oil light while Mathias pulled himself from the grave. “Are you sure it deep enough, it being on top of poor Muso like that?” asked Josey. 319

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE “Two or three feet a’ dirt be on top of him. Deep enough to keep away the varmints. But I’ll watch it for a few days.” “It seem strange Master Jacob buried here. But Sarah be happy. She see her Jacob now without suspicions ‘cause Master Jeremiah don’t care if she give flowers ta’ Muso.” “Yep. She’s just a darky to him. He care less what Sarah do now. Sarah just his mask for Fiery Hill. Cotton money needs a cotton face.” Mathias pulled himself to Josey and gave her a kiss. The dirt on his hands pressed into her drab linen dress. “Thank you, Josey. You’re smarter than anyone give you credit. This a wonderful idea, even though the smell terrible.” Josey pressed a gentle hand to his face. “Boy, you never know where those ideas come from, do you? It’s good that we have friends we can count on.” “Muso was, wasn’t she? She gave me her charm. But she and Jacob need its protection now. It’ll go on top of him, and he on top a’ her.” “Demon gone now, but the thorn hides.” “Protection from Jeremiah different though.” “She help us if we need her,” Josey said with certainty. “Watching us all the time…” Mathias’ thoughts seemed to drift as he gazed into the vague light in Josey’s eyes. “Don’t worry, lover. Muso may be inside me, but she promise our privacy.” “How she be inside and not be watching?” “You get used to it. Be happy. Tomorrow we jump the broom.” The couple reverentially reached for the shroud-wrapped remains and moved them into the grave on top of Muso. Josey pulled the bag from her blouse and placed it on top of the body. Later they walked to their home at Fiery Hill, as ready as one can be in such a situation, willing and hopeful for their new life together.

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ared’s cell phone rang every two minutes beginning shortly before midnight. He decided to make Pemba wait. At twelve-thirty he answered Pemba’s persistent calls. “Where the hell are you, Jared?” “Isn’t it obvious? I’m hiding from you.” “You little shit! What are you up to?” “I would say the same about you. You’ve been rummaging through my office.” “What?” 320

Shadow of The Conjurer “You heard me. I know you’ve been looking for it. I don’t trust you.” “Jared, I didn’t think you would care. You said it was there. We agreed you would give it to me.” “You ignored my direction to wait.” Silence on Pemba’s end conveyed he struggled for a plausible answer. “Is Nika with you?” asked Jared. “I said I would bring her.” Pemba changed to a whisper. “You know, for when Melissa is gone.” “I want you to leave my office.” Pemba sputtered. “I’m not in your office. I’m in the east parking lot like we agreed.” “You’re a fucking liar.” “Jared, really.” “You can’t blame me for being cautious…friend. But I have the thorn, Pemba. And you won’t get it without making me happy.” “I don’t give in to threats, bucko. Destroy the thing and see what happens.” “Somehow I think you would like that.” Pemba did not immediately respond. “Jared, you’ve a right to be afraid. After all, you saw what I did to Blaine. I would be scared in your place.” “Come at eight in the morning, after the work day has started. I’ll give you the thorn then. I want witnesses.” “Witnesses come and go.” “Come at eight. Or you won’t get to destroy it.” “It won’t do you any good, Jared. You don’t know how to use it.” “You’re right, but it’s the only thing you are scared of. So it’s the only thing I can use. You have to convince me I am safe. I don’t have to do anything. And I won’t retrieve it until I’m satisfied.” “If you don’t bring it, I will assume it’s gone. I won’t need you then, will I?” “You’ll worry until you have it in your hands. Bring Melissa, and don’t come early.” “Of course. All of the above. You have to feel safe. Got it. I don’t need to come early. Waste of time.” “Will be if you don’t follow my directions. It might be a day, or a month or a year later when I change my mind. My terms, Pemba, because I have the power of choice. If I didn’t, you would have taken it or me by now.” 321

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE “Don’t disappoint me, Jared.” Pemba turned his cell off, a grimace on his face. “That worm.” “You overplayed your hand,” said Nika. “We shouldn’t have ransacked his office.” “It won’t matter. And when I get the damnable thing, unlike Blaine Harvey, I will take my time with Jared McNally…and his pert little wife.”

J

ikindi called out to Koroni. She flashed her colors, her hues, as a lighthouse in a storm. But the darkness and cold surrounded her, permeated her in a physical way though she knew the feeling to be false. Koroni’s rescue of her did not come. Jikindi gritted her astral teeth and pushed forward, fighting all of the horrible feelings that impaired her way. She trod determinedly and barked a short incantation, shooting her spectral hands forward, green light pulling from the core of her palms and the depths of her heart to illuminate her path. Jikindi saw walls standing on each side, tall black walls without end. She had only one way forward, and she took it. Her journey was without contact, food, change of pace, or terrain. Only dark walls too tall to ascertain direction. Jikindi tried. She flew as far as her astral self could project. It did not matter that she changed direction. So did the walls. So she stopped trying and simply trod, hoping that her efforts were watched and in one unexpected moment would be rewarded. In the meantime worries curried her favor with every step. Jikindi knew that two centuries of earth time could be untold millennia in the thorn. As for Muso Koroni, it could mean many things. It could mean her passion for Pemba was reignited. It could mean the opposite, that atonement seemed as flimsy as it had when she entered, thus too far away for her to leave. But mostly, Jikindi feared her arrival would be viewed as a failure of her promise to Koroni, to leave Koroni to ever-lasting penance. As a result, Koroni would deal with her jailer, Jikindi, in the only way certain to shut her cell door forever. Muso Koroni would jail the jailer with her. Together, they would pay the penance, Koroni for past crimes and Jikindi doubly so, for past crimes and present crimes, evils past and Nika’s lost soul today. Jikindi was not stronger than Muso Koroni in power, but she was stronger in heart. That was her saving from despair, from the conclusion that not only her daughter, but also her granddaughter would pay her bill. After some unfathomable time of more dark, bitter cold without the frost and white of ice, but bone-chilling to her soul nonetheless, Jikindi felt a change. She hoped it was not a mirage, but she could not be certain in this desolate place. The walls seemed to tilt her in one direction, and the ceiling of her tunnel seemed to turn a messy shade of gray. Finally, far ahead or close within reach, it was hard to say which, into a thorn horizon of lost 322

Shadow of The Conjurer perspective appeared what seemed a flickering and faint canvas that contrasted with the surrounding dark. Jikindi saw the canvas as a pulse first, a seeming vibration of the dark that temporarily appeared as gray mush with each pulse’s vibration. It was metronomicly timed in such a way that the pulse mirrored a heartbeat. Jikindi even sensed the soft thud of the pulse in both dark light and telepathic sound. With each plodding step, the pulse seemed to become sharper until it transformed to a bare blink of white, its pale allure acknowledged in Jikindi’s mind as more than her imagination. Jikindi pushed forward until she reached a bulge that ended the tunnel. It opened into a cavernous oval room. And on the far wall was the pale white light, now suddenly sharp and twinkling and growing larger as she closed the distance, a kaleidoscope light of changing colors. Jikindi saw the sparkle for what it was, a curving screen intended for communication with her Koroni. Jikindi was overjoyed. There was hope. When Jikindi arrived at the living theater’s orchestra pit, the sparkling light transformed into a spinning spiral, similar to a galaxy but not, a three dimensional series of concentric arcs of energy that coursed from a pulsing center that appeared almost like a beating heart. To some without Jikindi’s presence it might seem like a gigantic storm ready to pounce. When the spiral sensed Jikindi close enough, its multiple arms swung outwards to envelope her. Its touch was like the stingers of a huge jellyfish. Jikindi jerked taunt, bent backwards in receipt of the message as her consciousness swam with vertigo. ‘It is not your time; it is not your crime’ was received. ‘It is not your time; it is not your crime’ was punctuated. Jikindi found a chink in the repeating message, a sense of sadness, of knowing that one day Jikindi would come, despite her promise not to. And on that day, Muso Koroni might owe at least an explanation. That sadness gave pause. That sadness allowed Jikindi’s request. Jikindi shouted to the void. “You owe me, Muso Koroni. Your servant brought the true promise of light to a gluttonous god even though I was your gluttonous disciple.” Jikindi’s astral image twitched at the end of her statement to the void. Scene after scene flashed on the screen and amid Jikindi’s mind, some over and over to torment her, to remind her of so much selfish and wasted life. Jikindi relived every second of her crimes, even her most horrible crime, the destruction of her daughter, Halla, her unexpected gift and unexpected savior. Finally, the spinning press of such reminders paused. Jikindi sagged with the memories but rebounded strongly. “You need not show me what I see on my own every single day, Koroni. My crimes are burned into my memories. I will never pay enough. But I pay with action instead of hiding in a black tomb. I do not assume my absence is preferred to assistance to my people and my family.” 323

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE Koroni shocked Jikindi again with a repeat of the scene of her daughter’s death. Jikindi had not been reminded sufficiently. Otherwise, Jikindi would understand and leave. Jikindi would realize that if her crimes were horrible and unforgiving, Koroni’s were more so. Koroni must stay. When Koroni felt the reminder was clear, she loosened Jikindi’s gag. But instead of surrendering, Jikindi continued. “We, your conjurers, were happy to allow our bodies for you. Those powerful enough extended our lives at the expense of innocents and falsely called it the will of Mangala, called it such because we were thorough mortal mirrors of our masters. So after my several lifetimes of sin, the only person to call me to my evil was my own daughter. An unexpected daughter born of unexpected love from a lifetime far removed from the one that should have died. I laughed. You laughed. And she paid.” Jikindi waited for the nightmare to repeat its torturous admonition. It did not repeat, so Jikindi posed her own reminder for mother witch. “You and your brother held sway only by disobeying our Father. You indulged because you knew no one could stop you. Even the combined might of your conjurers could not budge nor influence your change. It was only through the sacred signs of ‘Ti kalama’ that you and Pemba were harnessed.” Jikindi was freed. Jikindi floated into the void. The spinning pattern of colors, so bright a few moments ago, seemed to slow into a translucent globe with spongy strands of glowing mucus that waved lazily in the void. “Don’t give up on yourself, Muso Koroni, or our family. You believed you righted wrongs. You believed your brother was cared for, and he was. However, Pemba found your care insufficient. He chose to ignore his chance for redemption.” For a brief moment the strands of spongy spectral material seemed to glow brighter, leaning forward in interest. “Granted, my Koroni, you planned for this contingency. You left me the thorn. But Pemba was deceitful in his revenge, and we were complacent. Our temporary happiness in the eye of the storm was our undoing. My family and our tribe paid richly for his resentment while your isolation insulated you from our pain.” No return from the void. “I knew you would not come. Your wound was too fresh. So with death around me I fled in order to survive Pemba’s rage. I fled into bondage with my granddaughter, Nika. But I fled with hope because I fled with your thorn.” The strands drifted, wavering from some unseen force, this and their soft pulse of heartbeat the only telltale sign of life. Koroni listened but did not respond. “My granddaughter, Nika, daughter of Halla, was raped by your brother before she had even come of age! Do you know why he did it, Koroni? He did it for retribution. He 324

Shadow of The Conjurer did it because he believes I took you from him. That is an imbalance that shouts for correction!” The waving strands darkened further, the heartbeat that glowed with its pulse becoming paler. The absence of a reply angered Jikindi. Her anger emerged in a short and futile blast of green lightning toward the dark pulse. The lightning illuminated the cavernous room. “What does it take, Koroni? When do you take a stand? Answer me with your voice! You owe us that.” No response. “May Mangala shake you. Pemba has our Nika! She is turned to him, Sister.” The pale heartbeat blinked and surrendered to the dark. The screen was blank. Jikindi cried at her abandonment, but not for long. She lifted an undefeated face where a moment ago she swallowed her failure. She would not wish Koroni ill but knew the sister of Pemba had built more walls around her abbey. Jikindi spoke not in anger, but in a caressing pity. “The future world to which I return is so strange, so much larger than what we had together, Koroni. But it is so full of promise. If its citizens could compare the worlds of our mutual pasts to their world of today, they would see progress. But many, if not most, would be drawn to the marvels that surround them and desensitize them. They would miss the fruit. The marvel is in the heart of man. Despite wide spread pain, a woman who has lived several lifetimes can see enough to be optimistic. Slowly, lessons are being applied. It is true many are ready to give up on their future because the suffering that continues is still a darkest black of the darkest choices. They are like you. They are the defeated.” Jikindi floated to the dark ceiling of the bulge. Behind her a door of light opened. Her return to Alabama would be much easier than her path to find Koroni’s hiding place. The jailer knew this and hoped her time in the thorn did not fail Jared McNally. Somehow she believed it would not, even if Koroni failed to leave for fear the evil inside her would bind her to Pemba again. That was the only reason Jikindi could give herself that made sense of Koroni’s disregard. At least it was an excuse that was more favorable than abandonment. “But, my sweet Koroni, the light of love will not be denied. The few willing to carry the sword of light are the powerful ones. On their backs they carry the multitudes that are willing to hope. Those few radiate the courage for those without the willingness to make a stand. The few swallow the despair of the many, for only through the few will the many ever take a stand.” 325

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE Jikindi sadly turned from the screen, from her reluctant Koroni, and faced the uncertainty of Pemba and her granddaughter, Nika. In a moment she faced the door, its beckoning light bathing her green face, detail highlighted in sharp flicks of gold that sparkled against the green. Jikindi turned for her goodbye. “I will be a carrier of the light, my Koroni. I had hoped you would be one. In the end, it will not matter because if I die the soul’s death, Pemba will simply be blocked by the next Jikindi, or the one after that, until one day a Jikindi willing to protect the light will make him pay, with or without you.” Her astral body tilted forward, almost in the manner of a sprinter readying for a race. She picked up speed, legs not plodding, nor flailing, simply her mind capturing the point where she would end. “Kama blõ. I am the vestibule of the master of the sky. Māde blõ. I am the vestibule of the Mande,” echoed the strong and indomitable voice of Jikindi. Then she accelerated as if a rocket, and her streaking light left Koroni’s empty cavern.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX After the phone call Jared tried to sleep. He set his cell phone alarm, but it was unsurprisingly unnecessary. Mostly he fretted and watched the time. He wondered how Jikindi was faring. He wondered how far away Melissa was in her own body. He wondered how much longer he could keep up the act with Pemba. And he wondered if he could stall long enough before Muso Koroni and Jikindi arrived. Jared left as the complex awakened, holding the chocolates and the thorn. It was 7:15 in the morning, and the corridors were busy. It took him only a few minutes to walk the distance, his eyes flitting around looking for possibilities of people watching him for their newfound master. If Pemba had such spies, Jared was unable to discern them. However, every stray glance from any man or woman was held with suspicion. Still, Jared managed a few hellos and quick small talk, always looking for something behind the eyelids. It seemed normal. More importantly, Pemba and Nika were nowhere in sight. So far, so good. Except for the unrequited hope that Jikindi as Sarah and some unknown woman would be waiting at his office door. Jared’s office was locked. He laid the loaded chocolates on his small conference table and left the door partially open. Pemba did not need an unfettered hand to do as he pleased. But neither did Jared need any snooping though he needed witnesses to hold Pemba in check. Jared would talk at the table, next to the door for a quick escape. At the appointed time a small rap was followed with his secretary expressing a quizzical look. She knew that her boss disliked Blaine Harvey. “Boss, Mr. Harvey is here. And so is your wife. Should I close the door?” “No, Amy. Leave it open. But see that we are not disturbed…unless you hear a commotion of course.” “Commotion?” 327

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX Jared eased her concern with a laugh. “Well, it is Blaine, you know.” She smiled. “It’s okay. Just business,” he said disarmingly. She left the door open. “Hello, Mel. Surprised you came, me being such an evil guy and all.” “Let’s get this over with,” she replied tersely. “Aren’t you beside yourself,” Jared teased. “I should press charges, you bastard. I can hardly move my neck.” “Show me.” Melissa opened her collar to reveal a nasty bruise surrounding her thin neck. It shocked Jared. He had assumed Pemba was lying. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…didn’t know.” “Oh, please. Really. I can accept you hating my guts. Just give us the thorn. You and I can work out the details of our divorce later.” “Blaine and I should talk first.” “Why?” “You may have reason not to trust me, but I have ample reasons not to trust you either. A common ground requires I talk to each of you separately.” “You don’t need to do that,” she replied. “Yes, I do, Mel. I need to see if your stories jive. If things are as you said, I’ll give it to you.” “Jared, this is ridiculous.” “I want to talk to Blaine now.” Nika Melissa pursed her lips. “I’ll be outside.” “Sit in the chair by my secretary,” directed Jared as she left his office in a huff. “Well,” said Pemba, “you don’t seem to mind digging yourself deeper. And you pissed the shit out of me last night too.” “Lot of that going around.” Pemba relaxed. “Can’t say as I blame you, but it’s me or Jikindi. Surely you can give me some slack.” “Yeah, let’s sit down over here, Pemba,” said Jared, motioning to the table. “So what did Mel say, or Jikindi as it were?” 328

Shadow of The Conjurer “Said I had to trust her. That she would tell me the reasons as soon as we got the thorn. Said I wouldn’t be involved if I hadn’t saved her from you.” “So why is she willing to let me off the hook so easily for trying to murder her?” “No proof, and she didn’t go to the hospital. Waters her claim.” “That’s ridiculous. She could simply say she was afraid of me.” “But Jikindi needs the thorn. Like you said, until she gets it, you’re safe. Give it to me instead. You have more reason than before to get rid of that cunt of a wife.” Jared glanced at his watch. Where was Jikindi? “What’s wrong?” Pemba’s eyes briefly flared in purple, signaling his attempt to read Jared’s mind, to find the thorn. “Thinking through how this should go down. So you just blink and snatch Melissa and Nika at the same time? Take them to that little purple ship of yours?” “I did it with Blaine.” “I need a little payback too. Can’t get my poke in without knowing its Mel.” “Mel’s there. Can’t you tell?” “You and Jikindi work on so many levels, each one a little different. I can’t tell who’s in charge or how, whether Melissa is possessed or influenced. How can I ever tell if Melissa is here or not, much less whether she knows what’s happening to her?” “Influence is a guide, a suggestion without detailed instructions, not a ‘you say such and such’ and then do ‘such and such’. Possession is stronger. Jikindi or I control every action of…of the.” “Victim?” “I prefer host. Where is this going?” “I’m just narrowing down what to expect. So what is the answer?” “I have limitations, so Jikindi does as well.” “Then how can she influence Melissa from afar?” “I can place a command in someone’s subconscious, like a hypnotic direction. When they are in a certain situation, they act it out in their own way. And when they return to me, I can see what’s in their mind.” “And do they recognize you have influenced them?” “Not usually.” “You’re telling me you couldn’t make someone remember?” “Why are you asking?” 329

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX “You just said that when you influence someone, you can read their mind afterwards. So the memory is always there, just hidden.” “Yeah, so?” “If it’s there and you can bring back Melissa, you could have her remember. We could see how much Jikindi knows.” Pemba thought about the question, obviously concerned. “I suppose a witch as powerful as Jikindi could bridge or block memories.” “And you are more adept than Jikindi. But if I tell Melissa its location, Jikindi will intercept that information.” “You’ll give the thorn to me before Jikindi can react. That’s why I’m here. How can you be so fucking dense? Just show me the damn thing!” “I know you’re smart, Pemba, but, hey, you’ve been doing this so long it’s like breathing. You want some slack? Give me some.” Pemba churned in silence. “So when I allow you to enter me, that ‘willing participant’ thing you’ve been asking for, when do I get to say ‘no’?” “You say ‘no’, and I probably do what you want. Key word is probably. But my friends who allowed me their use were very happy friends.” “So willing participants get to have all of the fun, and unwilling participants don’t. They don’t even know what is going on unless you want them to. And when I give you the thorn, I lose its protection, don’t I?” “Look, Jared. Sooner or later, you have to trust someone. You’ve got to prepare for the choice, man. Prepare for the choice.” Jacob said the same to Jared. “Then, I guess I choose to believe you.” Jared reached for one of the chocolates on the plate that were safe, popping it in his mouth and winking at Pemba. “I knew you would.” Pemba also reached for a chocolate. “Now the thorn?” “You have to try to make her remember. And if we can’t, I need to know whether it’s Nika, Jikindi, or Melissa. Let’s talk to her first.” Pemba took a deep breath. “This is getting old.” “You introduced yourself less than 24 hours ago. Has anyone ever said you are impatient?” “All the time. Proud of it. Go get her. Damn good chocolates.” He reached for more. 330

Shadow of The Conjurer Jared looked at his watch again. 8:15. No Jikindi. What was he going to do next? Sooner or later he had to give it to Pemba. He called his secretary. In a moment Nika entered, still huffy, but she sat quietly at the table. “Is he going to give it to us?” asked Nika. “He will in a moment…Melissa,” replied Pemba, emphasizing her name. “What are you going to do with it, Mel?” asked Jared. Nika looked at Pemba who shrugged as if to say ‘wing it’, the fact she was looking to Pemba for guidance not lost on Jared. “I think I can offer it up like cash to a kidnapper. I will eventually be contacted directly by whoever started this. If I give it to this person, everything else goes away, like a curtain dropping to a new act. Just goes away.” “Someone contact you, Mel?” “No, not directly.” “How about I give it to you after they have?” “Give it to me now, Jared, and the rest is up to me.” “And you go away with Blaine?” Nika closed her eyes and shook her head at the stupidity of the remark. “Blaine! Say something.” “He knows how I feel about you, babe. Man is still bitter. Guess I would be if I was him.” “Yes, Melissa. I’m a little bitter because my ball-busting wife hasn’t figured out that her ex-old man grew a set. He doesn’t plan on letting her dig her stiletto heels into his scrotum.” “I’m leaving!” she exclaimed. “You have no intention of leaving without the thorn, so cut the act. Here, have a chocolate or two. We’re going to be here awhile so I can vent. And you’re going to listen because it’s part of the payment, bitch.” Jared slid the tray of candies her way. She looked to Pemba who shrugged again and reached for another chocolate. Nika picked one up, looked at it, then ate it in one bite. Before Jared could start, she grabbed a couple more. Jared was cranked. He went round the world, blaming Melissa and all women for being ‘self-serving bitch-ass cunts’. He said it often enough to seem giddy with pleasure. It was one ugly after another with a pause in between so he could catch his breath and start again. 331

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX Pemba could barely contain himself. After all, this was exactly the way that Pemba felt. At the moment he and Jared were brothers, victims of the same degradation and betrayals that begged for redress. Nika on cue from Pemba voiced little rejoinders, but body language betrayed a passivity to it all. After awhile Jared rose from his chair and paced the room, looking at his watch and glancing out the door. He sat back down as Nika Melissa’s mouth curled in mirthful scorn, sensing he was running out of steam. Jared grabbed her arm with one hand, not in a manner to be violent, but in a manner to violate. Nika tried to remove his hand, but she could not. “I’m not going to strike you, Mel. I should have known from all those late night meetings. You practically exude ‘bitch-blow’.” “You got your payment. Give me mine.” Jared leaned into Nika Melissa. “Dillon can’t be as good as you made him out to be in those tiresome stories of sacrifice for his little girl. You are as calloused and vicious as they come. Your old man must have been a real pussy.” He gripped harder with the last word, then released her arm. Nika reached for a chocolate and tossed it into her mouth. “I’ll take that as a complement.” Jared scowled. “Mel would never let me talk that way about her father. She worshipped him.” Pemba and Nika exchanged looks. “I’m not sure what is going on, Blaine. I wanted Mel. What have you done with Mel?” asked Jared. “You’ve been using me as toilet paper,” said Nika. “Then, you go south on me because I don’t defend Dillon?” “You have her memories, but that doesn’t mean you know what to do with them. If you know someone, if you live with them for a long time, their reactions are predictable. You’re not Melissa. You’re Nika.” “Nika? Nika from the diary?” Pemba leaned on the table. “Melissa, you compared the person that wants the thorn to a kidnapper.” “Kidnapper?” “Brain kidnapper for lack of a better word. Jared believes Nika is orchestrating the return of the thorn, and you’re just a mouthpiece, maybe unaware of someone else manning your rudder.” 332

Shadow of The Conjurer Nika continued the act. “Why do you think that, Jared?” “Because I’ve had similar influences…from someone else.” Pemba reached over to Nika and gave her a gentle tug. “If this Nika is controlling you, her intents are not clear. We’ve all seen some pretty strange things these last few days, right? You should reassert yourself, Melissa.” “Let Melissa reassert herself?” asked Nika, the question pointed to her master for certainty. “Yes. I know it sounds like mumbo-jumbo, but Jared still has the thorn. We’ve got to know it’s you.” Pemba patted her on the hand. “Close your eyes. Breath deep. Calm and pull on something strong, a memory that makes Melissa feel solid.” Pemba reached to her temples and closed his own eyes. In a moment she was calm, apparently hypnotized, her eyeballs fluttering under her lids. “Try now,” said Jared. “When we’re sure its Mel, we can ask her about Jikindi.” “Not sure if this will work, but here goes.” Despite the peaceful look on Nika Melissa’s face, Pemba sweated, his brow tightening with the effort. After a moment he stopped the attempt. “That was different.” “I don’t understand,” replied Jared. “Looks like it worked. She’s in some kind of trance.” “Yes, but…” said Pemba. “I guess Blaine’s body is just tired. Like working in molasses. I didn’t get any sleep last night. Did you?” “What do you think? Can you do this or not?” “Give me a moment.” “I thought Nika was on your side,” said Jared as Pemba struggled for control of Melissa’s mind. “She’s supposed to be…though this could be Jikindi’s doing.” “Yeah, right. This is all part of that long story you didn’t want to get into until you had the thorn?” “Of course.” “Maybe you should fill in a little bit.” Jared glanced at his watch again. “Why was Nika in the thorn with you? And why was she there with your lover, Koroni?” “Jikindi sent her there. She sends all of her enemies there. Nika is Jikindi’s granddaughter, and she betrayed her to help me.” “And you’ve been accusing me of holding back? Seems you’re doing the same in spades. Is there anything else?” 333

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX “That’s about it.” “So now, are you saying you don’t trust Nika, or are you so deep in lies that you just have to go along with the latest?” “The thorn has plenty room for more, you included.” “So now you believe she might turn against you to help her grandmother.” “It’s possible. Quit trying to be king of the universe if you want some peace of mind. You need to give it to me, Jared.” “So when is Melissa coming out of this trance?” “Soon. You say that wasn’t her before, I believe you.” Pemba leaned forward to take Jared’s shoulder, cajoling his trust. “How long was Melissa’s affair with Harvey?” “Two years, bud. That’s harsh, but that’s the truth. Click of my fingers, and she’s gone. Problem solved, and I deal with Nika. It’s a win-win.” Jared eyed Pemba and decided he could no longer hold him off. He turned to the set of drawers behind him and pulled out a small plastic bottle. Inside was the thorn. Pemba’s eyes grew large. His tongue protruded from his lips, almost salivating. He reached for the bottle, but Jared drew it back. “How will I know it’s Mel?” “You said you could tell. Why is that my problem?” Jared paused. “Wake her up then.” Pemba waved his hands. Nothing happened. He did it a second time and again nothing happened. Jared saw this was a new experience for the demon. “Man, something’s wrong.” “Keep trying,” replied Jared. Pemba twisted his neck, stretched, and tried a third time. Melissa relaxed, her shoulders slumping in the chair. She opened her eyes and blinked, sluggishly at first, then rapidly, not quite understanding whether to move to Jared, or the door. Jared’s office door was closer, but she reached for Jared’s hand instead. She stood and pulled him to her, certain the only thing he would know was personal. Jared did not vacillate, knowing this was the only way as well. “You found me, Jared. Daddy would be so proud.” And she kissed him. Somehow Jared knew this was right, not another charade. He handed the bottle to Pemba. Then he grabbed her hand and ran out the door. 334

Shadow of The Conjurer Pemba clumsily tried to take the safety cap from the bottle. Without a quick success, he smashed it on the side of the desk. The long thorn fell to the carpeted floor. He grabbed it and pulled it to his eyes. With a gleam of long-delayed success he remarked to himself in satisfaction. “It’s time to die, Jared.” Pemba stuffed the thorn in his shirt pocket and ran out the door in pursuit. All work in the area stopped, drawn to the spectacle like flies to shit.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN Jared and Melissa ran to the elevator. Jared grabbed her arm and pulled her to the hall leading to the stairs. “No elevators. Not safe. Can’t retreat if we need to,” he said as they both juked around opposite sides of a cart filled with computer equipment, the stunned technician asking whether an alarm had gone off. Moments later Jared yanked at a staircase door, and they exited down the wide cement stairs circling to the first floor. Pemba exited Jared’s office in a quick jog. As he did, the area around him seemed to shimmer in purple-hued heat waves that rippled and tore the space and texture around him. Pemba’s face contorted and his hands jerked spasmodically as the cushioned air breathed sparks of energy. Just as quick it began to sputter, then flame out as he arrived at the elevators. He slowed and glowered; but his anger was clearly directed at his inability to maintain the energy he needed to affect the surrounding area. As he passed the technician, the man simply pointed to the hall, hugging the wall and staying as far away from Pemba as he could. Then, as Pemba strode to the stairs, the technician began pushing the elevator button rapidly, glancing back and forth to the hallway. Jared and Melissa burst onto the first floor breezeway. Jared reached for the door and stopped. On the other side through the window he saw the guards, all armed. They had not been there earlier, but why hadn’t the chocolates stopped Pemba’s control? Jared had no time to figure it out. They were obviously waiting and must have simply been carrying out an earlier hypnotic suggestion. Jared turned quickly and stopped his wife. Gesturing to the door window, he crouched and drew a finger to his lips to quiet her. He pointed up. They softly but quickly launched themselves back up the stairs. Half way up the flight they heard the doors open above them. Jared opened the second floor entry and pulled his wife inside. He turned left and ran toward the south wall. A few doors down was 336

Shadow of The Conjurer an equipment room. They went inside where he turned on a light above the electrical panel and then locked the door. Melissa fell into his arms in relief.

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emba ran down the stairs, anticipation of the kill exciting him. He saw the guards at the door, but without the couple. One informed him that before long, the egress and ingress of normal activity in the complex would require that they move. Pemba nodded in frustration. He quickly checked the other guard locations on the first floor. Jared and Melissa had not been caught. This was a cluster fuck that was getting worse by the second. He was certain they were in the building. All of the doors and the elevator were covered. Pemba stormed back to Jared’s office on the third floor. Jared’s secretary was huddled with others in the open bullpen before the row of management offices. Jared and Melissa’s departure had tongues wagging. No one had seen the couple, so Pemba walked around the perimeter of the floor before entering a conference room in the middle of the building. He sat at the table and tried to focus. He took his hands and opened them palm outwards and nothing happened. He drove his fist into the table and looked around just as a man with a pile of folders entered. The man frowned stupidly at Pemba. “I’m Jerry Steward from Logistics. We had this room scheduled to discuss prepositioned stock. You here for that?” Pemba smiled in satisfaction and concentrated again while staring at the man.

J

ared whispered. “First things first, babe. You still have that witch inside. You have to be strong to keep her away. It’s mental and emotional strength. Okay?”

Melissa nodded. “I can. I can now. I almost gave up. When she went inside me that last time, I understood what was going on. I felt everything. I heard everything, but I…I had no control over my body.” “I know. He was trying to scare you, so he could get to the thorn.” “It worked.” “We’ll figure this out.” “Please forgive me. For so much. Blaine. And this Pemba. After the diary I lost consciousness on our porch. But when that monster flooded me with his memories, and he promised me I-I would…die. I-I just…retreated. Inside.” “It’s not your fault. I share in the blame too.” 337

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN “I told Blaine to stay away weeks ago, before all this started. Please believe me.” “I do. I really do. And after this is all over I have some things to confess, stuff that went on after you lost control. But there’s hope, Melissa. There’s hope. We have an ally. A powerful ally.” “Is my neck sore because of something you did?” “Yes. Someone had control of me also. But I’m free of him now.” “Not Pemba?” “No. I’ll tell you later.” “How could Nika do this to me? Jacob was captivated by her.” “She was turned by Pemba, and she’s dangerous, babe. Are you calm?” Melissa nodded but reached for another quick kiss and embrace, more for assurance she was back, but the gush of feeling for her husband was real. “Jared, the guards. Why didn’t we go to them for help?” “Pemba is a being, a spirit, whose powers of persuasion cannot be underestimated. I am certain that he planted some type of hypnotic suggestion in the guards before I drugged him. Probably in the people in my office or this building as well.” “You drugged him? How’s that work on a thing like him?” “Doesn’t matter. The drugs will slow him down for awhile. We cannot trust anyone.” “Then how do we get out of here?” “We need to wait. Jikindi, our ally, is bringing another spirit, one who has reason to stop Pemba and has the power to do it.” “Who is Jikindi?” “Nika’s grandmother. You know her as Muso of the diary.” “Muso? Muso wasn’t much older than Nika, maybe ten years at most. How could she be her grandmother?” “They are body switchers. Jikindi has passed the centuries almost an immortal, taking one body after another. She is a good woman, honey, and she is our friend. In the meantime Nika was trapped with Pemba, but you and Connor released them in the graveyard.” “So how will Jikindi find us? We’re hiding, and he is out there.” “We planned this. She knows I was in my office. She’ll come there.” “But the guards. The other people?” 338

Shadow of The Conjurer “We have to trust she can handle them. I can fill in some blanks quietly, at least until Jikindi gets here. If Pemba finds us, I must do the talking. Try to stay calm. Fear is his ally.” She nodded and seemed to take strength from his words. “Whatever happens, Mel, these last few days have been the most remarkable time in my life, not because of how extraordinary they were, but because my heart won out over my mind. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You welcomed me into your heart, and I forgot how to reciprocate. I wouldn’t trust you. I wouldn’t commit to you. I love you, and I won’t give you up to that son-of-a-bitch, or any son-of-a-bitch, without a fight.” Jared took the initiative this time and opened his mouth hungrily to hers, knowing it might be the last time. He wished he had more. He wanted her badly; but it was time for the cooler, more practical Jared to prevail. He pulled her to the floor, their backs against the wall in the dim light of the equipment room. Jared put his arm around his wife and began whispering and preparing her. He had maybe minutes, but not long. So with a rapid matter-of-fact exchange he told her of the bright worlds of The Infinitesimal and of other things not so bright. Whenever she shivered or put a hand to her mouth, he hugged her and kissed her cheek or lips, always telling her this would end well no matter what.

P

emba opened his eyes and saw his arms filled with folders. He laid them on the table and stretched his fingers. Yes, his mind was clearer. He flipped his palms outward and purple flashes of electricity danced on their tips. He looked across the room to see Blaine Harvey’s body spread-eagled across the conference table, his mouth open and a thin stream of spittle dribbling from his lips. Pemba in tie and coat unfurled his arms slowly, his beseeching palms outward, his chin tipping to the ceiling, the brow clearly tightening as the small purple lines appeared alongside his reddened temples. The whites in his eyes turned darker with a purplish sheen. His mouth opened to erupt tsunami waves of purple energy that pushed out through the walls, the floors, the ceiling, and then the building. A moment later the man in the break room next door dropped his cup of coffee. The mug shattered on the hard tile floor, but the man did not stoop to pick up the pieces.

J

ared and Melissa were in mid-discussion when their minds snapped taunt and rigid, like a deer that was ambushed, the wolf biting down before the deer had a chance to react. The jaws of the predator dragged them unwillingly to their feet. They opened the door to see lines of people boiling out of offices as if a fire drill 339

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN started. Small and large globes of soapy purple bubbles danced over their heads, bumping above them as they walked. Mostly people did not talk; but every now and then a man or woman here and there caressed the hair or skin of the person in front of them, one or two men copping a feel, and one woman reaching around to touch the crotch of a man who smiled blissfully. Jared and Melissa had no choice but to follow them. The line of people snaked up or down the stairs converging to the third floor of Jared’s office. They huddled shoulder to shoulder in the hallways surrounding a large conference room. “Let them through!” someone shouted, and the sea of people folded apart as if Moses commanded the Red Sea. Jared and Melissa walked through the tunnel of arms and legs and staring faces. Inside the conference room the couple watched as men upturned the large meeting table and turned it on its edge to clear the center. People moved the room’s chairs to the hallway except for one. In the middle slumped in the remaining chair was Blaine Harvey’s shell, slack-jawed, but propped up. Someone had taken their belt and tied him to it. The handful of people in the room began a clap and stood aside for Jared and Melissa, pushing them into the middle with Harvey and his furniture. Over the speakers began the ripple of the guitar, and the crowd began chanting along with the sound of heavy metal. Soon the walls vibrated with the ever-increasing crescendo of the guitar and the crowd’s chanting and clapping. For five minutes the place rocked, and the people danced. Though their minds were clouded and they could not keep from twisting softly with the blaring music, Jared and Melissa’s hands were shared in a hard ball of unity. Meanwhile, folks around them were raising fists, grinding tails, and flailing arms in uproarious assimilation with Pemba’s suggestive powers of desire. As the music built to its end, a man walked to the center holding a woman in each arm. He kissed them both and slapped them on their behinds, and threw his arms into the air. “I love that. I just gush. Love it! Don’t you?” “Yes!” everyone shouted. “Now, to business,” he said. “Yeah, business!” someone agreed. “Okay, let’s settle down now,” said the man who ten minutes ago led a life as Jerry Steward. “I had a man once, a main man he was going to be. My man. We had so much in common.” “Community, man! Commonality,” responded an audience member.

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Shadow of The Conjurer “Shut up, you twit. Just listen,” said Pemba. He waited for the silence. “Jared McNally was offered my friendship. Even more, he was offered immortality. He turned me down!” “Let me be your friend,” beseeched a man to the side. “I won’t turn you down.” “I know you wouldn’t, friend. That’s the point. No one in their right mind would turn me down, except for…a pussy. A pussy would turn me down, not some winsome wench, but a pussy-ass faggot masquerading as a man. That’s Jared McNally, a loser and a pussy-ass faggot. And why would he turn me down? He turned me down for his scared little bitch. The same scared little bitch who danced a tango rather routinely on this man’s wilted schlong.” He pointed to Blaine. “How’s that for a sick choice in important life considerations based on pussy? Believe me, she ain’t that good, but I give her a six outta’ ten.” The crowd laughed and cheered. Pemba quieted them, placing his hand on Jared’s shoulder. “What’s your defense, bud? I release you both. It’s only right that you go through this sober.” Melissa clung to Jared as they eyed the crowd and the man possessed by Pemba. “I gave you the thorn. What else do you want?” asked Jared. “Want? Well, first, to take away your man card. You do not deserve it. Maybe I’ll take your card and give it to my new main man, Jerry.” “Take it, then. From the look of things, I don’t have much say anyway.” “No, you don’t. I have the thorn. I can do whatever I want.” “Then, why the show, Pemba?” “I like the show. I like the buildup to the end.” Pemba walked around the perimeter of the wall talking. “So if you cannot defend yourself, who in this room will stand up for you?” “McNally was always a flinty hard ass. Have him jump off the balcony,” said one man. “Give his wife to us. Don’t waste that piece of prime whoresteak,” said another. One man made a quick dash at Melissa. Jared turned like a whip and nailed him with a right hook to the temple that sent the man crashing. “Fuck all of you zombies! My wife’s not for sale. Call them off, Pemba. You have what you want. Let us go.” “Yes, the thorn. Let’s see.” Pemba pulled the long tree barb from his pocket and held it between thumb and forefinger like a prize. Jared took the moment to swat at the thorn; but Pemba laughed, pulling it away. Jared grabbed Pemba, and they both fell to the floor. A few of his disciples pulled Jared off as Pemba stood and opened his fist. The thorn had splintered into several pieces. 341

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN He smiled. “I’m not going back to that dark place. And that’s a good thing for you. I like your body. I like your wife’s body. And I like your property. Just need to do one thing. The rest of you stay as you are while Jared and I go play with his wife. Back in a jiffy.” At that, Jerry Pemba Steward’s eyes darkened, then lit up in a bloated sort of way, the purple energy bulging from his body.

A

ctivity was brisk in Sarah Freeman’s area, but no one was surprised her office was locked. No one looked through the closed blinds, and no one saw Sarah draped over her desk, seemingly asleep. Behind the blinds the office suddenly flashed green, and Sarah’s right hand trembled, the fingertips twitching spasmodically. Sarah moved her face back and forth across her desk, mopping at the papers that lay below her head, hands opening and closing as if searching. Her right hand closed on the object as she pushed her body to a sitting position. Her eyes snapped open and focused on the bottle holding the thorn. It sparkled silvery in the florescent glow of the ceiling lights. To avoid knowing the location of the real thorn Jared had waited elsewhere. Jared not only had the decoy, but his mind had been wiped by Jikindi. She planted a hypnotic suggestion, a bluff, not a barrier, to his revealing the truth to Pemba. Jared would believe he had the real thorn, and he would not associate Sarah with Jikindi until she arrived. And hopefully, the camouflage would work because Pemba would see that Jared had what he thought was the real deal, precluding a deeper examination. Jikindi glanced at her watch and gasped. Then she wheeled around to face the cabinets behind her. Pulling open the front drawer holding her office pantry, she began rifling the cabinet. In a moment she pulled out a steak knife, flimsy but potentially lethal. She placed the knife on top of her desk and opened the bottle. Sarah held the knife and thorn to the light, after which she wrapped a narrow strip of duct tape at the top of the blade to hold them together. Then she cried, a profusion of tears flowing down her face. She wiped them away with a prayer to Mangala. “Please, great Father above, forgive this lowly creature for choosing the act she is about to take. I know murder is wrong. I know that my friend Sarah will be blamed unjustly for my poor choice to rid this world of a foulness. I am so sorry I am selfish. If you have a different choice for me, please reveal it. But I ask for your attendance over Sarah, my sister, as well as her family. Watch over my friend, Jared, and his wife, Melissa. Father, in these things, I remain your servant and daughter.” Jikindi Sarah Freeman drew a deep breath to cleanse her lungs and mind. She tucked the weapon into a pocket. She reached the east building of the complex minutes 342

Shadow of The Conjurer later where she saw the guards at every entrance leading to Jared’s upstairs office. She walked to the guards nonchalantly and reached for the door. “Ma’am, you will have to wait a few minutes. We have a problem with the building’s electrical circuitry affecting security. Won’t be long though.” “Oh, really, officer?” Jikindi touched the man. “I’m an electrical technician and need to help.” The guard nodded and announced to his two partners. “She’s an electrical technician and needs to help.” The other two shrugged and continued looking down the hall in the opposite direction. Sarah opened the door as the officer tugged faintly at her elbow. “You’re name, miss. So I can pass it on to the other guards.” “Sarah Freeman.” “Thanks, Ms. Freeman.” Jikindi was struck by the leaky sound of rock music from above. The door was blocked. Fortunately, it pulled inside the stairway and not into the crowd. She squeezed into the stuffy hall to join the dancing throng of shoulder-to-shoulder acolytes of Pemba. She pushed forward, hand on her pocket and its concealed weapon. The crowd was mostly silent though a titter rose every few steps from couples who continued to enjoy their lack of inhibition.

“I

’m not going back to that dark place. And that’s a good thing for you. I like your body. I like your wife’s body. And I like your property. Just need to do one thing. The rest of you stay as you are while Jared and I go play with his wife. Back in a jiffy.” At that Jerry Pemba Steward’s eyes darkened, then lit up in a bloated sort of way, the purple energy bulging from his body. Jikindi made her way to the door. She saw what was about to happen. She had no time for deception, no time to understand why Pemba was not in Blaine Harvey’s body. She simply hoped Pemba was too involved to stop and that her aim, while reckless, would be true. She reached into her pocket and held her make-shift dagger high in the air and ran to Pemba’s side, throwing all of her force into a sideways blow toward his head. Jikindi was tackled by a large bullet of a balding man. The tackle tore the knife and thorn from her grasp. She watched helplessly, trying awkwardly but forlornly to grab the loose weapon as it fell in what seemed like slow motion to the carpeted floor. As Jikindi landed with a thud, several others viciously grabbed her. 343

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN Jared tried to help but was also gang-tackled. In moments, Jikindi, Jared, and Melissa were brought struggling to Pemba. “Jikindi, I hope you will forgive my guards. Gave me a moment to identify your color tag. Forgive my theatrics too, but you know me. I can’t change. But you. Oh my! The decoy thorn. What a slippery little trick. At least I see the great Jikindi again. You can thank Jared for that.” “I didn’t say anything, Jikindi,” said Jared. “He’s right in a way,” replied Pemba. “When I called my flock a few minutes ago, you can imagine my surprise when Jared’s mind suddenly popped open as if everything before was a ruse. It was a get-outta’-jail-free card. Now speaking of ruses. You drugged me. Crafty bitch, aren’t you? Good Mangala, I miss the old days. What a couple we were. So when does your little concoction wear off?” “Too soon.” “Well, let’s see. Give me the treats.” A paper sack was brought to Pemba from someone outside the room. “Very delectable by the way. Did you make them yourself?” Jikindi Sarah did not reply. “No? Now, you can take your medicine properly…or not. But they will be in your belly by the time we get through. Easy or hard? Which will it be?” Pemba held out the chocolates. Sarah ate all three that remained, chewing quietly. “Can’t have you interfering any longer. So smart. Too smart. But the surprise was finding that the thorn held my sister. Now where is she?” “She’s coming, you animal. And she’s pissed.” “Good. I want to see her again. Seems you have been hiding. Why?” Pemba closed the gap between them and grabbed her forehead as his minions pinned her arms behind her. “Let me see,” he said as Jikindi Sarah’s head jerked in an attempt to keep his hands from her. Pemba’s eyes rolled as she twitched violently in what appeared to be an epileptic attack. Moments later, the struggles ebbed, and Jikindi flopped forward. Pemba removed his hands. “Interesting. I could not enter. You are the thorn’s owner. Let’s make a change in that.” Pemba snapped his fingers, and a woman picked the knife and thorn from the floor and handed it to him. Pemba laughed again. “You were going to catch me with this freaking steak knife? What were you thinking? I claim the thorn now.” 344

Shadow of The Conjurer He repeated the torture a second time with Jikindi Sarah frothing from the effort, dribble and spit coming from the woman’s nose and mouth. Pemba dropped his hands. “That can’t be. Pull her up. She’s fainted.” They complied, and Pemba slapped Jikindi several times. In a moment she came to. “It didn’t work, bitch.” “Of…course not.” Jikindi wiped the mucous from her nose. “I did not make your prison. Your sister did. She won’t let you in the mind of her jailer. She doesn’t want you. You are the complete opposite of what she wants.” “My sister is responsible for my prison? You’re lying. For your own selfish motives you lie. My Muso Koroni was upset with me. I guess I deserved it. But she would never do that.” “You self-indulgent fool. Of course she would. You could trip up anything I created, but not something from your sister. You can do with me what you want, but I can reveal nothing about the thorn. Koroni’s spell will not let me. You cannot be its owner. You are its target.” Pemba slapped Jikindi. He turned away in frustration only to return, aiming a blow to her stomach. “You turned my sister against me, witch! Let me in your mind. Or I swear I will destroy you and yours, even what’s left of your granddaughter.” Jikindi Sarah coughed then rose to her tormentor. “It would not work. You may be able to get snippets of memories, but none of them will get you to her side. Only Koroni can do that.” “No lies. I have had my fill of lies. Your granddaughter’s soul depends on it. When will my Koroni come?” Jikindi drooped in the hands of the men holding her. “I have returned from her side, and she refused to leave. She despises you.” Jared’s mouth opened in surprise. Then, fear darkened his face. He gripped Melissa tighter, feeling lost on the Titanic. “And high and mighty Jikindi was hiding,” prodded Pemba. “I was biding my time.” “Of course you were, coward.” Jikindi stared without comment. Pemba grabbed Jikindi’s hair and pulled closer to her face. “Jikindi leaves her granddaughter with me. A snake of a woman who sacrifices her daughter can easily sacrifice a granddaughter. It’s just another little piggy to hang from a tree to bleed.” 345

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN Jikindi tried to ignore the taunt, but a tear ran down her cheek. “You are such a hypocrite, Jikindi. You would let your vessel, Sarah Freeman, take the blame for your murder of me. How sad. And all those years with Koroni, loving me, loving Baaku. Living lives, other people’s lives. You never batted a tear until your daughter’s death.” “Mangala forgives if one asks, Pemba. You’ve done worse. I acknowledge my sins. And the sin against my daughter will flow with me to the end waters of my life and my afterlife.” “Oh, bravo, Jikindi, bravo. Well said and let me give you a medal. The reward, my charming ex-box, being the end is soon. So my sister is not coming. Tsk, tsk. But I have the thorn. You won’t be putting me back in that any longer. I think I will burn it.” “Do you really want to close any possibility of seeing your sister again?” “What?” “You heard me. Destroy the thorn. Destroy the key. You leave her in there without a way to get out. Don’t destroy the thorn, and you still cannot find her unless she desires it. The thorn is the portal to a dark spot of The Infinitesimal. Pick your poison.” “Your convenient slip of tongue may help. You were at her side. You know the way. So if Koroni will not bring me, Jikindi will take me.” “You would not go back into your prison.” “I would not go back into my prison, yes. However, if the jailer is held hostage, the jailer will use the keys to not only go back in, but to leave expediently when I choose.” “It doesn’t work that way. The dimension of the thorn is complex, a maze of choices that change often. If you go in, I cannot guarantee either of us comes out.” “Good play, Jikindi. But you got out, didn’t you?” “Even if you get to her, Koroni will not leave. She would not leave for me. She most certainly will not leave for you.” “I must hear that from her own lips, my duplicitous witch. And besides, if the thorn’s universe is as large as you say, then it is large enough to hold Nika’s twin, is it not?” “I would never leave my granddaughter in such a black world.” “I believe you. But with your abilities, I expect you have swaddled her in a blanket to protect her from a dark touch. The maze hides her from me…at least until you find her.” “She is not there.” “Such an actress. You should get an award. I’m sure you would be a fan favorite. Let’s move to more comfortable surroundings, one where I have the distinct upper hand. 346

Shadow of The Conjurer One where Nika is with us. My Nika is your granddaughter as much as her twin that you hide. You have to bring them together.” “And Pemba, what do you do with your flock? You need these bodies. There will be no adequate explanation after we leave.” “You know me better than that.” “I think straight enough. If you desire to go into the thorn, you must return it to my possession. I am Koroni’s jailer. No one else can use the key. That includes Pemba the Great and Powerful,” said Jikindi derisively. “My guards will remove our bodies to Jared’s office, then clean up. Everyone else simply forgets. I will give you the thorn, under my control of course.” “And once we are there, only Koroni or I can return you.” “You will, or I destroy your friends’ souls, one at a time. That explanation enough?” “It is not The Infinitesimal you are comfortable with.” “Yes, blah, blah, blah, blah. You’re boring me to death. What next?” Jikindi Sarah extended her hand. Pemba removed the tape from the knife and handed both to an acolyte while stepping away from Jikindi’s reach. The man tucked the knife into a pocket and handed Jikindi the thorn. Jikindi opened the crook of her left arm. A wicked looking cut held crusted blood along its jagged channel, reflecting the blood shed in her initial trip to Koroni’s side. She began a chant. “Muso y abulo tilindi (The woman stretched forth her arm). Na balo lemu (It is my body). Na yello lemu (It is my blood). Mangalala nyolu ntolu wulindi (The eyes of Mangala lift us up).” Jikindi took the end of the thorn and with a grunt dug a line parallel to the other wound from her elbow to her wrist, not deep enough to cut into an artery, but deep enough to bring a stream of blood that bathed the thorn. She held the talisman to the light and watched as the dripping blood was sucked into the thorn’s interior as if small pores on its silver-shining surface were hungry vampires drawing their last meal. Her DNA-like color registered her as the soul and jailer Jikindi. At its thirsty completion she threw the thorn into the air where it floated and spun, slowly at first and then faster. And as it turned madly, the very fabric and spatial congruity of the room began to change around it. The ceiling tiles behind seemed to orbit the thorn, then a larger share of the ceiling to include the lights and the mounted projector. A small gray pinprick of darkness took the center of the centrifuge and grew larger until it was the size of a basketball. The very air was filled with static and cold. A rushing hum filled the 347

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN area. The audience’s hair began to frizzily elongate toward the centrifuge prick of darkness while the temperature in the conference room dropped further and further. Jared shouted. “The cold in the graveyard! The dimension is opening!” Pemba lit like a purple sun. The energy wave flew from his hands and engulfed Jikindi, splitting Sarah’s body from astral occupants, blowing Sarah’s body from her feet as Jikindi and Sarah’s separated spirits plunged through the portal that suddenly materialized in the centrifuge’s whirling cloud. Jared and Melissa had no chance to react as the same energy wave took them with its storm. All three bodies were left crumpled on the conference room floor, a dull vegetable of Blaine Harvey watching tenantless with eyes askew, still tied to his chair. Jerry Steward absorbed the adrenaline rush of Pemba’s release. He would never feel as powerful again. Everyone left inside and outside the conference room blinked simultaneously, and their mouths dropped open in dull obedience. They waited quietly with vacuous expressions as the guards mopped up.

T

he physical earth evaporated.

They stood on the bridge of Spaceship Pemba, an isolated temple of purple in a sea of darkness. For Pemba, his hostages were chips to be bought and sold. Even Dark Nika was on the auction block. Jared put on a steely face and signaled Melissa to say nothing. Melissa tried to wrap her arms around her husband to no avail, their spirit forms unable to twine. Jared shook his head, calming her telepathically, but she remained at the edge of panic. Nearby was Sarah Freeman. She did not flinch. Her eyes simply folded left, then right, awaiting a signal. At Pemba’s side in the middle of the spacious and cloudy globe was his lover, Dark Nika, smiling but attentive only to Pemba as if he was her sole anchor. Jared reacted to her form, recognizing the identity of the temptress in his Jeremiah-induced nightmare. Jikindi was chained, her spirit drugged, her power diluted. Despite this, she telepathed her identity to Jared and Melissa’s spirits. Jikindi was dressed from an earlier life as the young and beautiful medicine woman, her supple form breathing vitality. This was her original form. Jikindi the witch at her most powerful. But it was the good witch that shown through, not her former dark side. She maintained the green glow of her sorcerous 348

Shadow of The Conjurer color of light, but it was faded and enclosed within a viscous purple fluid that wobbled like gelatin. The group was drawn to Pemba. He wavered and stretched and transformed from Steward to Harvey and to a third white man. Only Nika and Jikindi knew that the last form was Peter Spangler. Pemba seemed to fast forward through numerous other forms, mostly African though one appeared to be a white priest. Each African form held a spear or a shield, feathers and skins of colorful attire, painted or enclosed in beads. The transformations ended with his return to the structure of Blaine Harvey. “I admit to liking Peter Spangler’s form best,” Pemba reflected. “I would have kept him around if not for Jikindi’s meddling. In the end though, Blaine Harvey was the logical form. His was the most recognizable.” “Leave Sarah be, Pemba. She has done nothing. Send her back,” pleaded Jikindi. “Oh, but she has, simply by acquiescing to your presence. Besides, she is useful because you love her, Jikindi.” Sarah recognized Pemba’s name. To see him in control was the most frightening thing imaginable, but she was up to the task. “Do what you must,” said Sarah. “None of you will be harmed. We will return safely,” said Jikindi to her friends. “Maybe,” replied Pemba. “But can you handle their pain, Jikindi?” “Do whatever you wish to me, monster. If this path calls for my death, so be it. But know this, if you harm one person further, I will die before I take you to Koroni.” “You agree to take me immediately to my sister?” “Yes, provided you return my friends.” “I will not return your friends until I meet with my Koroni.” “Then how do I trust you?” “Do you really believe we are at a stalemate?” “Only because you wish for your sister. Take my soul afterwards.” “No, Jikindi!” exclaimed Jared. “This is not what we agreed. Do not bargain with him.” “Jared, it is my soul to dispose of, not yours. I will not give it up unless he does what I ask. It is the only thing I have to bargain with.” “Then let us begin our journey,” said Pemba. “I will guide my ship. Your eyes will be my rudder. But before Muso Koroni, we must fetch my lover’s twin, Nika of the Light.” “She is not here.” 349

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN “She is in The Infinitesimal. And the safest place within The Infinitesimal is a place where I am lost. That is the dimension of the thorn.” “You are wrong.” “You are her protector. The process of splitting her soul left the pieces oddly offkilter. The smell of my Nika’s twin is not yet inside me, but you recognize it. You desire their reconnection. Take me to her.” “So you can destroy her? Once you destroy the Light, the Dark slides quicker to the soul’s death. I think I do not make that choice. Take what you can. Take your sister.” “I think you need persuasion.” Pemba’s astral form whiffed to reform instantly next to Jared. His hands flew to both sides of Jared’s temple and pushed inside his skull. Melissa’s telepathic scream seemed to vibrate inside the purple globe of the ship as Sarah tried to stop the piercing sound with spectral hands covering her ears. Jared’s head arched and his arms folded at the elbows and wrists, hands extended like dinosaur claws, scrabbling and twitching. Pemba, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying the show of strength. His eyes twinkled as he watched Jared’s torture, especially since Jikindi could not move within her cocoon to interfere. “I’ll take you to Koroni! I’ll plead your case for you. Just stop. Please!” exclaimed Jikindi. Jared’s spirit form relaxed. “Where is Nika’s other half, Jikindi?” Jikindi stared at Pemba, her soul unable to voice a choice. “Let me help,” said Dark Nika. Pemba turned to his paramour, switching briefly to Jikindi to see her reaction to the intervention of her granddaughter. “Ah, yes, school. Jikindi should enjoy this, Nika being so much like her grandmother.” Nika walked to Melissa, instead of Jared. “Sh-ss-h, my dear,” Nika cooed as she stroked Melissa’s hair, a capability earned through the power of her lover. “Do not worry for what you leave behind. Your shell is fertile, and so is your husband’s. Pemba and I will not waste the opportunity to make new life. Our child’s soul will be ours, even if its bag is your DNA.” Jared stirred. “Don’t listen to her, Mel. We’ll get out of this.” Nika turned to Jared, her eyes shining with blood red malice. “You’re such a wiggadick. She dreams of the next cock, even as you plead her case. She can’t change, Jared. She’s nothing but bed gravity. If Pemba created a mattress in this orb, she could not help but spread her legs.” 350

Shadow of The Conjurer “Jared, remember Jacob,” said Jikindi. “Look away.” Jared stared but did not respond. Nika’s hand went to Jared’s face. “Do you want me, Jared?” The sockets of her maroon eyes glowed darkly as her mind reached out for connection. “Jared fucked me, Melissa. Your body was there, but you were asleep. That takes you off the hook for all those times with Blaine Harvey. Mattress hopping upstairs in your house. Leaving Blaine on the sheets and in your excited cunt.” “Jared, look away,” interjected Jikindi again. “Shut up, mamaw! You had your time. Now let me have mine.” Nika lifted her hand from Jared’s head. Her extremities vibrated and dissolved into a red mush that reformed into a jagged knife. “Master, I need some help. I can’t go in without you.” Pemba was happy to oblige. His right arm clasped the knife-like extremity of Dark Nika and devolved into a blood-like substance of purple that coated the spectral knife. At the joining of purple and red, Nika’s eyes rolled back, glistening darkly before lighting up with sizzling energy. A violet semblance of desire was coerced from both of their mouths, Pemba almost spooning Nika as they melded. The shallow breathing of lascivious hunger was telegraphed to all within Pemba’s globe. Their fused hands of violet steel sliced into Jared’s head, resulting in renewal of Melissa’s screams, only this time their appendages seemed to expand and contract, mimicking the same poisonous process that resulted in the death of Blaine Harvey’s soul. Jared’s head expanded slightly. A dribble of ectoplasm leaked from his nose as he flitted from the poison injected by Pemba. His torso tightened and his back arched again, his spectral clothing becoming flaky as small cracks began to appear throughout his shirt. He lost more and more of the comfort of his spectral form. His soul began to dissolve. “Jikindi, for the love of God do something! This is a good man. My man,” pleaded Melissa. “Okay, Pemba. You win. Just…please…stop,” surrendered Jikindi. Pemba and Nika removed their stumps and reformed outside Jared. Jared reformed as well though he continued to leak a gelatinous liquid from his nose and ears, even throwing up a wad of the brackish material. “How will I know that you will not destroy her twin?” asked Jikindi. “You don’t. But that is not my intention, Jikindi. My intention is quite the opposite. I want a reunited Nika to choose me, not you. I want her to be my lover for eternity, my back up for a sister who may refuse me, even as I hold the hands of forgiveness.” 351

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN “If you have any chance of bringing her back, Pemba, you destroy your chances with such a choice. Muso Koroni is changed. She does not take human form any longer. I have seen her. I have talked to her.” “I’ll be the judge of that, Jikindi. Let’s get started, or I finish him.” “Melissa, Jared will be okay. You are his healer,” said Jikindi. “Stay close to him.” Melissa nodded. Pemba swung out an arm to sweep across the front of his globe which seemed to open for an airline hangar view of the thorn’s dimension. In front of his purple ship it was black, but outlined in numerous gray cracks that seemed to open to tunnels and pathways in all different directions. Pemba looked to the bound Jikindi. He placed his hands in front of his chest and instantly a small kaleidoscope globe of energy appeared. He dug his paws inside. “My mind is open to you, Jikindi. Tell me where to go.”

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CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT The little girl skipped stones across the river, her droopy clothes hanging wet below her waist and floating in the water. Her fat little dog, Wulo Tulo (butter dog), was chasing the stones, then returning to his master with that wet happy dog look, lapping at the water before returning to jump and rub his muddy feet on Nika’s clothes. She laughed at Wulo Tulo. She loved him so much. His short hair was perfect and easy to clean, and he enjoyed his time with her. Every day brought new adventures, an endless supply it seemed. Nika always had her friends or her dog. Strange that she never saw her family (who were they?) though she woke each day on her mat at home in Mande Faro with breakfast sitting on a small table in the corner. Nika was uplifted by everything. She had love to spare for anyone, even a stranger who might walk the path through her little village. So it was not difficult to understand why she was unbothered by the advance of the strange caravan of people. She saw the man in front and was struck by how odd he was. He was a white man in strange clothing. Another white man and white woman walked in the rear of the group with two black women between, one dressed in strange clothing like the white people. Nika saw a white man once. They were scary. Where was that? Her friends associated them with chains. Nika had never seen their huge boats (wasn’t that true?), but her friends insisted they were unimaginably gigantic and made of large timbers that smelled like cesspools of floating excrement. That thought allowed a shadow of doubt to filter inside. Wulo Tulo ran to greet the entourage. As they drew closer, Nika was attracted to the African behind the white man. She was the most beautiful woman Nika had ever seen. But she was also drawn to the welcome painted on the woman’s face, a welcome that seemed like they knew each other but had been pulled apart for so long that maybe they forgot how wonderful it felt to be this close. The woman ran to Nika, arms extended in familiarity. Fantastic! This sight returned Nika to happiness and to the dreams she sought. “Hello, Nika,” said the woman as Nika grabbed her waist in a hug. “And hello to Wulo Tulo,” she added as the dog jumped up and down at her side. 353

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT “You are very pretty, but I like your smile best,” said Nika. “Did you come to play with me?” “Yes, we did. I am Jikindi. Do you remember?” Ten year-old Nika frowned. The name was familiar. “I think so. Are you the mother of one of my friends?” “No, but take your time. Things will clear.” The large white man stepped forward. “Nika, I have brought someone else you know.” Nika noticed the small arms surrounding the man’s waist. Slowly, a scowling face peered from the side of the man’s odd clothing. “Come out, little one,” said the man as he grabbed the girl’s arm and pulled her away to face Nika. “Do you remember your sister?” “I don’t like her! Let’s go back,” said the girl, a mirror image of Nika. Nika was stunned. She did not know she had a twin. “We cannot take time to be afraid, my Shadow,” said Jikindi. “Listen to your heart, little one.” “Why are they dressed funny, Jikindi?” “They come from a far away land to bring your sister. Will you hold her hand?” “She doesn’t like me. What is happening, Jikindi?” “Destiny, child. Your chance for excitement,” said the white man as he stooped to her side, pulling the reluctant Dark Nika with him. “We are family, all of us. Even though I dress differently than you, have a different skin, your sister is part of me. That makes me family, doesn’t it?” “I don’t know. You are too close, mister man. I don’t like being…too close to you. And I don’t like not liking things. I much prefer to like things. Even you, mister man.” “Of course, you do, little one. Kiss your sister now.” Pemba thrust Dark Nika toward her twin. “You look like me, but you are not like me,” snarled Dark Nika. “Kiss your sister,” demanded Pemba. Dark Nika glanced back at Pemba in irritation, then looked over her twin as if she was sour milk. Unenthusiastically, she did as she was told and embraced Light Nika. Light Nika took her sister into her arms and noted the coolness of her sister’s skin, almost cold as if she had just emerged from a spring bubbling from a hill before the sun 354

Shadow of The Conjurer could warm it. Before Nika could digest the anomaly, a sharp pain registered in her shoulder. She pulled away startled as warm blood trickled down her neck. Dark Nika smiled as she wiped the blood from her mouth. “That’s the kiss you deserve. Stay away from me, little fool.” And the sky began to darken. “You know everything that you can know, my Shadow,” said Jikindi. “You’re my grandmother, aren’t you?” said Light Nika. Jikindi nodded, her face wobbling and stretching as Old Jikindi emerged from Young Jikindi. Old Jikindi grabbed Dark Nika with one hand and Light Nika with the other as the gray clouds above swirled in anticipation. Jikindi chanted. “Nge dingo kanno, Mangalala an Koronila (I love the child, Mangala and Koroni).” Then she removed her leopard claw necklace and in a swift action scratched across Dark Nika’s shoulder, then her twin’s, raking the claw through their spectral blood. “Jurume noro aning dibbo. Bette an kujua, jino an maleika. Nika dandang. (Bind together light and darkness, good and evil, demon and angel. Protect Shadow).” The very earth seemed to quake, and the fabric of the area became murkier in transition. At the completion of the chant, the twins vibrated as Old Jikindi held each in her strong hands, crouching to pull them together in a hug. The twins slowly dissolved into a single figure. At their merger the single little girl looked around at the unworldly chaos around her and broke from her grandmother. And she stumbles as the world turns darker. She unwillingly opens her mind to a world unknown to children, populated by flashes of obscenity and demons with long tongues and slit eyes. Each one is obnoxious, each one vaguely human, demons doing things that a child hears in the dark of a hut, barely sees but does not comprehend. Nika understands these devils are paired with other devils, devils that motion to her, motion her to join them. Do not fear the blood they say. Do not fear these couplings of bristly appendages and gaping wounds. Participate. You will never be the same. Shadow sees that each demon is rooted to the bubbling purple flesh of something larger. Shadow’s eyes move up this living hill of groping nightmares, noting not only the obscenities, but the rotting and offensive gore of open gashes and decaying tissue that dots this rising and swelling redoubt. Only when her eyes move from the single trees of coupling fiends does her mind register the forest of these in a master pattern of wriggling and unsettling hairs on the sides of a giant breast, unsettling worms oozing and making filthy squishy noises that ripen into a symphony of swelling hubris. This is clearly a gorge of human fault; but one that ripens with use, putrefies in finality to this physical and giant nipple, swollen and deeply mottled, that hides the vague outline of something terrible above. 355

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT But most unsettling, most terrifying is the realization that this is an entire jungle of living evil connected to and poised for assimilation with other like-minded, a single entity of gluttonous malevolence that is nurtured by greedy assimilation. It can only grow larger. Calm was impossible as Nika faced a sudden wind and storm. In moments she was drenched, but the storm did not abate. “Does Jikindi really protect you, little one?” asked Pemba from the dark clouds. “Ask your grandmother about your mother. Ask Jikindi about Halla. Then look at the face hiding in the clouds.” “I can’t,” shouted Nika to the voices. “Mamaw! Take me away. Please!” “I want to, child. But you have to make a choice. Ignore this lie above and surrounding you. It is not what is inside us. It is what Pemba would have us believe is the heart of all women. We are not like that. We are not demons whose only experience from life is selfish and frenzied coupling. We love. We give. I love. I give.” “Ask her, child,” cajoled Pemba. “She is avoiding the truth. Jikindi has much to pay. She owes you. And me? I saved you from this when you were a child. I killed the slaver who raped you.” “It’s okay. Ask me, or he will not let this go away,” said Jikindi. “Jikindi hides her face from you as she hid it from me. Jikindi is the nightmare. Jikindi is responsible for your mother’s death.” “Mamaw, is he telling the truth?” “Listen to me, child. Listen to the one who raised you, who loved you and protected you, not that foul man. Are you listening, Nika?” Nika nodded to the dark skies from which the voices boomed, unsure of the female demon whose face is lost in the clouds. “Yes, Mamaw, I am listening.” “Did you ever feel unloved?” “No, I never did.” “Then remember that as I tell you the truth. I failed the mother you do not remember. I failed my daughter, your mother Halla, my unexpected gift. Pemba took your mother’s soul, but I did not stop him. I did not even try. I could have given mine in exchange, but I was weak. I was afraid to die a soul’s death. Pemba assumed he won when I chose to live at the expense of my lovely child. But he was wrong. I will never atone for my poor choices, but I will stand for you. I will love for you, not because of debt; but because I learned from your mother that love cleanses, even as it sacrifices.”

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Shadow of The Conjurer “She admits her sin, child. My choice was to make you strong, and I succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. You are no longer this little girl. You are mine. And you never felt more powerful, more alive, except with me,” prodded Pemba. “Shadow, you gave to him to survive. You gave to him because Pemba left only poor choice. A poor choice was better than dying. Do not choose fear. Choose love.” The little girl’s crown of confusion evaporated. Her brow relaxed, and she smiled once more. “I remember,” said Nika. She closed her spectral eyes, and her body shimmered. The dark sky lightened to a soft gray as the rain stopped, puddling around her feet and cascading off of her body in rivulets. Instead of a rain of chaos, it was a rain for cleansing. A green florescent light bathed the area, soon focusing on her in a tight beam. Nika opened her eyes and her body took on a yellow shade as she drifted upwards in a slow twirl, her robes flowering out in a vibrant soft dance of color and fabric that soon enveloped her body and hid her features, expressing the flutter of a butterfly in its majesty and freedom. The evil looking landscape evaporated and transformed back to the little village of Mande Faro. As the butterfly landed softly in the spectral soil of her dream, the child Nika became the woman Nika. She ran to her grandmother. They took the few seconds of Pemba’s consternation to dance around each other.

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nough!” shouted Pemba. “Take me to my sister.” Pemba grew larger until he towered over his small audience. He released his anger in a wealth of purple energy, fracturing the dreamy dimension of Nika’s cocoon. When the quake subsided, they were back inside his purple ship in the dark void of the thorn. Every member of the party was captured within a blob of the gelatinous fluid, the same that held Jikindi when they first entered the thorn’s dimension. “You haven’t won witch. You will let the rest rot in hell, before jeopardizing your precious Shadow. And if my sister will not have me, will not speak to me, you will take me back because you have no choice.” “I’ll take you to Muso Koroni if nothing more than to see her reject you, but leave my friends. They are better off in this resurrected village than with you.” “Leaving your friends in The Infinitesimal leaves their bodies in a coma. You effectively kill their lives in Alabama.” “My offer gives you what you want.” 357

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT “I’ll take Sarah just to prove you’ll do anything it takes to save Nika, just like the coward you are.” “You gain nothing and stand to lose much, Pemba,” replied Jikindi. “Move past your hate for me. Harming us simply moves you further from Muso Koroni.” “If my Koroni denies me, I have nothing but my hate. It is your fault and no one else’s. My pain will be assuaged only by watching your pain and your death.” “And when I am gone, what will you do? Pemba will be empty. Your sister learned the agony of poor choices. It is not too late for you.” “And what has that brought her? A monastic life in a dark hole.” “She will emerge from her hole reborn. She will be able to enjoy life without guilt.” “Bah! Guilt is for cowards. It comes from acknowledgement of sin. I will not do that. I take what I want. And because I can do it with impunity.” “I will be your mate in whatever body you choose. I will do it for as many lifetimes as it takes to change you or to pay for my granddaughter and my friends’ release. I beg you to consider this, my old lover and enemy.” To the astral captives bound to his purple ship Pemba appeared torn and indecisive. He delayed his response, but his spectral visage hardened. “I will bleed you till I am satisfied, and it will give me such relief.” Pemba dematerialized, then with a whoosh materialized next to Sarah. “Maybe I should go slow with this one. Eh, Jikindi? Give her a scream while snacking on popcorn, before ripping her guts out? What are you afraid of, Sarah Freeman?” Sarah squirmed but could not remove herself from him. “Stay away from me!” Pemba placed his hands on her brow. “Ah, too bad, Sister Sarah. You should join my Koroni. Nuns fancy it, even as they act on the opposite. Choose me. I will ensure you are filled with all the choice dick you want. And the bodies you will take. Think of it. You will be the one rejecting them.” Sarah spit a spectral loogie that slapped against her container. “Fuck you, toad. I know what you do. You promise and then you take.” “Oh, no, no, no!” deadpanned Pemba. Jared spoke up. “I saw him extinguish a soul that mirrored his own. Pemba kills friends and enemies. He has no compunction. He believes our fear of death is our weakness.” “Do it,” responded Sarah. “And I hope your Koroni drives a stake through your black heart.” 358

Shadow of The Conjurer Pemba brushed his hand through Sarah’s skull, but only momentary. Enough time, however, for Sarah to scream in pain, enough time for her head to loll in injury. “I want only one of them, Jikindi. But I want you to choose; or I will take two of them, maybe all. Who will it be, witch?” Jikindi turned away, unwilling to voice a name. “We can play, Jikindi. Sooner or later, you will give a name,” sneered Pemba. “Take me!” shouted Jared. “If you take Jared, monster, you will have to take me,” responded Melissa. “I think we all know he will imbibe his whims,” replied a dejected Jikindi. “Nika, can I count on you?” “If he keeps us under his thumb, we are as dead as the mother he took from me. I am with you always, Jikindi the Conjurer, my mamaw,” replied Shadow. “Mangala bless you, child,” said Jikindi in acceptance of her fate. “Pemba, we choose to be better than you, to not belittle our souls, to be greater in God’s name. We choose our deaths, all of us, before I choose one of us. I will not take you to Muso Koroni. May Mangala forgive you. We choose His message versus the dead life you offer.” “You are all bluff and no sand.” “You know better. You’ll never get out of here,” said Jikindi. “You’ll want forever without any way to change your confinement. You’ll go crazy. So enjoy your revenge. It is the only meal you have left.” “Then Sarah will be the first, Jikindi. Then Melissa so Jared can see his wife go before him. Then Jared. I’ll save Nika for last. You’ll change your mind after the first is gone, but it will be too late.” “My powers are consumed. Even if they were not, I would not stand a chance. I have no tricks left. Friends, focus on the most pleasant event of your life. He will not take it away.” They each nodded. From Jikindi’s cell of purple rose a soft wave of green that reached out and touched each of her friends and her granddaughter. They closed their eyes in receipt. Jikindi’s telepathic message broke into their spectral minds. “Whosoever loves as God loves, he will not fear to die. Mengomeng y Alla kannu, wo te silala sala. The seed of all knowledge is fertile with the blood of life. Praise its creator, Mangala. Doni siya wo siya yello balu. Alsi Mangalala kalama tentu! I am the vestibule of the master of the sky. I am the vestibule of the Mande. Kama blõ. Māde blõ,” echoed the strong and indomitable voice of Jikindi within her purple spectral prison. 359

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT Pemba bloated into a giant until all of the globes hung within his hands. He took Sarah’s in his right fist, looked to Jikindi in his left hand for reaction, snarled, then crunched his fist around Sarah. Instantly, purple light flew between his knuckles as a telepathic whistle shook the area. Pemba opened his hand to find his fist empty.

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nstead of gloating, his giant brow appeared confounded. In the next instant his purple ship careened this way and that. He was thrown around by the ship’s unpredictable movement. Inside, the remaining globes took gyroscopic positions within the center of his ship, simply spinning softly but maintaining their positions, even as Pemba was thrown side to side, his contact slipping through them without damaging the tiny globes of souls. Outside, the dark dimension of the thorn seemed to brighten with a pinprick from afar. It quickly grew brighter as it came closer, changing into a ball of blue fire. It hovered above Pemba’s purple ship, tracking alongside Pemba’s erratic globe. Pemba’s globe began to slow. Pemba righted himself. He splayed his hands in a fan as if manipulating a large computer screen, enlarging his view of the outside world. As he did so, the small spinning globes of his captives slowed to face the screen he created. The blue ball of energy erupted ropey strands of spongy material, globs of energy that lazily but purposefully surrounded Pemba’s ship. These strands stretched and expanded as the black dimension of cracks and tunnels was slowly replaced with the pulsing blue color. Pemba was entranced, completely ignoring his captives, unaware or maybe uncaring that their bonds were dissolving. The purple strings of their shackles erupted and eroded. Their translucent jail cells evaporated so that each captive floated freely within Pemba’s ship. Outside the inky sky the blue strands popped through his ship and touched Pemba’s face like otherworldly tentacles. They blistered his face at their contact. His cheeks and ears belched similar but smaller purple strands of the mucousy material which intertwined with the blue strands. Pemba’s eyes seemed to roll up in ecstasy from their touch. The waving strands that punctured Pemba’s globe glowed as Muso Koroni spoke. “I should not have abandoned you, my brother. I never quit caring, but I had to leave. Jikindi taught me the value of nobility.” “We are above their concepts. We can rule,” replied her brother.

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Shadow of The Conjurer “Long ago when we stepped to mankind, away from the animals, that was our creed. Man gave us more, and we consumed every pleasure they revealed even though they did it to control us. But they gave us Mangala as well, my brother.” “Mangala is a figment.” “I needed His face to tell me I was forgiven, but, instead, Jikindi demonstrated how I was cleaned with his message.” “She has poisoned you. She and her kind are cattle. We use their bodies as if they were meat because that is all they should be to ones like us.” A flash of lightning within her strands revealed Koroni controlled Pemba, that he was not independent. He twitched like a fish on a hook that could not remove itself. “Jikindi is more like Mangala than us, Pemba. Those cattle, as you call them, are just like you. Afraid. Worried about today, but capable of so much more. Maybe Mangala does not reveal Himself because He believes we have the right to make the choice of nobility without His push. He gave us values, not a booklet of conflicting step-by-step instructions. Fate is not in his toolbox. Choice is. It is His message that transforms us, not our worship of an angry god.” “You believe only in a ghost, but not in yourself, sister.” “If He is, so be it. Better to love a figment’s wonderful message than to accept your view. Use His message. Bring that into your view, brother. Take it into your heart, and Mangala is there. Whatever name you give Him.” “Bullshit. All bullshit and fairy tales.” “Look in the mirror, brother. You are the Mangala you believe in. You want worship. You are the center of your own universe.” “I am not human! I have no need for the boundaries of men…or women.” “Your lust for life is admirable to a degree, my brother. I am sorry you do not understand that similarity with our hosts. Because of them we can feed that lust, but we should do so with compassion and empathy for their needs as well.” “Damn compassion, and damn Mangala! If He exists, He has abandoned us. Not only is He not here when it would be so convenient, so complete, He leaves us without physical form. We do not have children. We have to steal to obtain love, to enjoy food, to enjoy senses. Is that a god you call God?” “We may never understand anything other than to take the hand dealt us, Pemba.” “The hand dealt me demands my thirst be quenched. And with powers such as ours, we can have no regrets. Muso Koroni, your brother, your lover, the only soul like you in this universe asks that you return with him to earth. Are you going to do it?” 361

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT “Of course not, brother. Not because I am not ready, but because you are not.” “You killed my desire by taking her. Then, you murdered me with your absence. Finish it!” The blue strands of Muso Koroni drifted lazily, this and their soft pulse of heartbeat the only telltale sign of life. Koroni listened but did not respond in anger. Pemba renewed his attempt to rid himself of her. Purple flashes erupted within his globe as his human form dissolved into a wobbly mass of purple gelatin with anemone-like appendages. The mass puffed like a blowfish with each stroke of energy, the white purple flash alternating with a dark purple center. Strive as he might, the appendages of spongy material could not unlock from Muso Koroni’s similar but larger strands. “Everyone betrays me! My own kind,” he exclaimed. “Whining is unbecoming of a celestial twin,” said Koroni. “Whining? You bitch. You won’t kill me? Then, I’ll find them all. You won’t protect them!” Her shroud over Pemba’s ship fell back like the parting of the Red Sea, back into her ball of energy. The tiny souls of Pemba’s former captives dematerialized from his ship. Koroni released a large energy pulse that encased Pemba and his globe in a translucent cage. She hurled him into a tunnel within the dark void. As Pemba fell, he changed into his comfortable human form of Peter Spangler. His last telepathic signal was unrepentant but hinted at regret. “My Koroni, I felt so alone. I cannot exist here without you.” “I will not abandon you this time, but you have a long journey ahead of you.” Pemba retreated. “At least we will be together.” He closed his eyes before blinking out in the tunnel that moved him speedily away within the maze of the thorn. Koroni took the familiar form of the young and vivacious Jikindi. Inside her blue globe, the souls within, including Sarah Freeman, welcomed the newcomer. She floated directly to her counterpart, the old grandmother Jikindi. “I am sorry. I should have returned with you.” “To the nobility of Muso Koroni,” said old Jikindi as she almost curtsied in honor. “Do not do that, Jikindi. We are equals.” “We are not. Or I would not have come for you.” “I am not talking of power. Thank you for the lesson, teacher, for giving me another chance to carry the sword of light.” “Do not thank me. Thank Halla, but we thank you for saving us,” replied Jikindi. 362

Shadow of The Conjurer “Some of us take a lifetime or many lifetimes to get over the guilt of what we have done,” said Koroni. “We think we are good, but often we are…not. The truth is it is all tangled together. And that is okay.” “After you return us to earth, allow me to hug you, sister, as humans do,” said Jikindi. Muso Koroni snapped her spectral fingers.

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ared awoke to Blaine Harvey staring at him, a whimsical look in Blaine’s eyes to match the coy upturn of his lip. “I thought you were dead,” said Jared.

“It’s easy to use an empty shell, Jared. I am Muso Koroni.” Into Jared’s line of sight came Sarah and Melissa. “How are you, partner?” asked Sarah. Jared grunted in a quiet laugh. “I don’t know for sure. Are you Sarah?” “Sarah’s inside. She’s comfortable. I am Jikindi.” “You ready to go again, lover?” asked Melissa. “I’m afraid to say. Are you my wife or Nika?” “Nika for a bit longer. I had to have my bit of fun. It’s been so tense today.” “I…I don’t remember the episode in the barn. I’m sorry if I had anything to do with it.” “Frankly, everything since my split is foggy as well,” noted Nika Melissa. “Now that I have returned, I’m a new woman. But don’t worry. The only woman who will have her way with you again is Melissa. She really loves you, Jared. I’m so jealous.” Jared smiled. “What will you do with Pemba, Koroni?” he asked. “Pemba will desire boundaries of the heart, or he will never leave.” Jikindi as Sarah hugged Koroni as Blaine. “I could not help but notice your color. How are you changed?” “I am more at peace. That is the nature of the blue. I wish we had more time, but I must attend to Pemba. Before I leave, I will spell this place. Everyone in the complex will forget what happened. But when I leave, Blaine’s body will die. Do you have an explanation for their authorities?” 363

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT “Yes,” responded Jikindi. “They will believe Blaine had a stroke. That he is brain dead.” “Good.” “Thank you for everything. I’ll miss you,” said Jikindi. “And I’ll miss what we had.” “As will I,” replied Koroni. They hugged again, a tear breaking from each before parting. “And what about you and Nika?” asked Koroni. “Our time is gone. Will you launch us to our dreamland before you go?” “It will be my honor.” “Jared, I have a request,” said Jikindi. “Yes, ma’am.” “Sarah needs you after I leave. Will you be her friend for me?” “I would have it no different.” “And Jared, I have a favor as well,” asked Koroni as Blaine. “Me?” “Yes. Go outside. Burn the thorn. Destroy every bit of it. I want nothing but ashes afterwards. Do you understand?” “Sure. What about the bag?” “You can have it as a keepsake. I don’t need it. The dimension will close forever.” “Then how will you return to earth if you choose?” asked Jikindi. “We may not be able to. I am unsure where the dimension of the thorn will take us once the portal is shut.” They said their goodbyes. While reluctant to part, they were also happy to see each other go. Everyone wanted to move on.

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ive minutes later, Jared was in the parking lot with Melissa. He pulled a lighter from his car. The couple walked to the periphery where they sat on the cold winter ground facing the Sparkman Complex. Jared pulled pages from a newspaper and laid them on the ground with a few small sticks. They took one last look of the thorn, twirling it and watching the minute silver particles sparkle in the morning sun. With her cell phone Melissa took Jared’s photo with it. After their close call with oblivion, they seemed reluctant to part with it. However, Jared took Melissa’s hand and placed the tip in her palm while he grasped the other end. Before they could snap the wooden spike, a bright blue bubble erupted and enclosed the complex. It was a quick flash, and the couple 364

Shadow of The Conjurer momentarily shielded their eyes from the light. Then, as if the thorn was a wishbone, they snapped it in two, then laid it on the crumpled paper. Jared lit the paper’s edges. “We can go back now,” said Jared. “I don’t want to go back. Let’s go home instead.” “I have to take care of Blaine.” “The guards will move the body. They can take it from here. I want to go home, lover.” Jared kissed his wife. “Sure. No better time than now to let someone else take care of the details instead of Jared. Right?” “Right.” “I’m in.” Hand in hand they walked back to his car. They did not bother to call their offices.

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he young man loved his garden. He felt one with the earth, one with God, when his nails were packed with soil, his hands smelling of fresh horse manure turned with compost. And that was what he was doing when she crept up to him. His brow was sweaty. His sleeves rolled up. The fork was embedded in fresh black soil. Nika grabbed Jacob from behind. He turned and smiled; but instead of hugging her, he reached for the rake lying on the split log fence. He handed her the prize. She laughed and pulled him into the compost. And they rolled. Rolled more until they were covered in debris. Jacob in his denim breeches and white cotton shirt. Nika in her simple cotton dress. They took the time to handle arms and shoulders and hair, touching softly, then firmly, just needing to know that they were together again. Jacob pulled Nika from the compost pile and grabbed her hand. He helped her over the low fence posts, and they ran laughing down the hill to the creek. Jacob pulled off his clothes with rapid and hurried strokes, tearing the coarse fabric of the breeches. Nika simply removed the white dress, revealing her lack of undergarments. They fell into a hole in the clear and flowing creek where they washed each other with exploring hands, mad kisses abounding while laughter still peppered the air. Jacob pulled his lover from the water, and they lay in the grass nearby. There they gathered what they lost in life. They dreamed deeply. And they were happy.

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ared and Melissa bounded out of his car. Jared cursed as he dropped the keys to the house. They ran up the short flight of stairs to the rear entrance.

“Hurry!” coaxed Melissa anxiously. He quickly retrieved the keys and inserted them wildly. Flinging the door open, Melissa pulled him inside where she jumped backwards onto the washing machine, her legs hanging off as she jerked Jared’s hand into an embrace, her legs wrapped around his legs wanting more. They had never felt this alive. Their kiss was consuming, time forgotten in the magnetism of their hungry mouths. They almost made love in their living room, wanted to badly, but sensed they needed to cross another barrier. They moved on and upward to the stairs ever so slowly, their passion thumping their hearts, even as the past seemed to inconvenience the present. They fell together at the top of the stairs, their legs and bodies intertwined but clothed. A minute of foreplay to excite them before they rose to tread the steps to their bedroom doorway. But the doorway offered resistance, a momentary chill. Choices. Would they be those from the past that interfered or blameless ones for the future? They looked into each other’s eyes, knowing full well the unspoken questions. Jared flushed the thoughts momentarily and carried Melissa through the doorway. They jumped into their bed, staring at each other in awkward silence, cobwebs of memories still blocking their view. “What can I say, Jared?” “Nothing. I don’t want to go back to the way it was. But I’m not sure of the guy inside.” “I’m the quitter, Jared. I don’t want to be, but I have been. I won’t be in the future. And you’ll give to me when I ask. And I will. But I’ll accept the guy inside too.” “A friend said many things make a couple strong, but they start with welcome. Kick me whenever I fail to make you feel that way.” “We shouldn’t hide our unhappiness, honey.” “That’s the barrier in this room, Mel.” “You fought for me. You had my back and my front. I don’t want to make love to you because you saved my life. I want to because I made a choice to be happy again. We can tear down these walls and start a whole new bedroom if you need because I don’t want you to see him in our bed. He never measured up to you. I accept you with your damn 366

Shadow of The Conjurer airplanes. I accept you when you drive me crazy with the damn details and your secondguessing. Just don’t become Melissa. Don’t be a quitter. We’re too good together for that.” “It’s so good to be home.” They fell into a huddle and lay there until they fell asleep. They awoke refreshed. Welcomed. And they started again where they left off, knowing that the rest of those things couples need to stay couples would fall in place with this renewal.

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eremiah Thompson sat on his tombstone. He gazed across each headstone, trying to remember if any of these names were real. He could not. He dully repeated his walk around the cemetery that held his family name. Once again he placed his hand on and through the tombstone next to his. It was cold, so cold. Sarah was the forgotten name. He remembered being powerful again. His cold had vanished briefly, replaced by hot determination. Somehow that determination (or was it opportunity?) had failed him, so he began his walk around the cemetery again…and again. Looking for something that was missing. In the recesses of whatever force was propelling his dead and ghostly feet, that same force also registered he would never find what he lost. No one cared. They moved on. This place was as empty as his heart.

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EPILOGUES

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EPILOGUES It was springtime before the slave cemetery was ready for its coming out party. It was mended in the winter, the ideal time to clean the area as the poison ivy and brush were at their thinnest. Sarah and Jared ramrodded the job. Sarah had a number of contacts who were excited about the gravesite. Jared and Melissa called Professor Rayburn who strongarmed a few college students to help. Even Emma Anderson was invited. She brought her brother and niece. Melissa let Jared revel in the planning, knowing that would make him happy. It started in February and was finished before the first cutting of the spring. Though some of the gravesites had markers that evinced to the fact of their postwar freedom, most were unmarked. Spring had left them crowned with a blanket of English Ivy. But in respect for their peace, and as symbols of their stature, their depressions were left untouched. Only one was disturbed and marked anew. Though the bones were not Jikindi’s, it did not matter because this is where her heart lay, friends entombed with her and living friends above. A large slab of limestone rock had been pulled from the Mande shrine at the top of the knobby mountain near Fiery Hill. They leveled and polished it on one side and placed it in front of the newly turned dirt. The inscription simply said “Jikindi MusoAfrican in name. Friend in Heart.” An old black preacher was called to bless the area. His tears of joy during the ceremony touched every person in attendance. He told the community of blacks and whites they not only repaired the cemetery but were healing the past, demonstrating that love always overcomes suffering. 369

EPILOGUES Jared and a pregnant Melissa held hands with Sarah. The couple’s new golden retriever puppy, Callie, lay quietly at their feet, sensing the need for silence or simply tired from running around and through every member of the congregation of visitors. Emma’s family held hands as well. Rayburn took photos while another student filmed the ceremony. The preacher ended the solemn afternoon under the large oak that protected the small cemetery, an old tree alive when Muso’s body was laid to rest by Jacob and Mathias. The preacher delivered a quiet prayer while a small choir of plainly dressed women and men from the local Primitive Baptist Church hummed softly in the background.

“God of Creation, God of Abraham, Lord of All whether they be children past or present, black or white, born close or afar. Hear our prayer this day for those who await your final call of glory. With reverence we seek your grace for these loved ones from long ago, These lost children to our worldly poor choices, but not lost to You. Here lay our trespassed ancestors who now beseech their children’s children To keep alive the love of their hearts. Love You granted them even as You allowed mankind the mistake of their thinking. Love You granted them knowing it would sustain them through trials. Love, the one thing that binds our humanity and softens the hurts of our past. But let us not forget to rejoice, Dear Lord. Despite what befalls us, these children and our children are alive forever Because their names are written on Your Glorious and Exalted Hand. They remain embedded within Your Heavenly Heart and Your Beautiful Mind. May the Breath of Your Creation and Your Strength Continue to Imbue Us, Surround us, With the Music of Your Garden, Your Sun, Your Water, and Your Hope Everlasting. Bless the many children of Your Congregation of Life that helped bring this day about. They demonstrate our determination that any suffering shall not have died in vain. They demonstrate the fruit of Your Love 370

Shadow of The Conjurer So until that day we meet for the final call, we pray “Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord, And let perpetual light shine upon them. May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed Through the mercy of God Rest in peace.” Amen The South Edge of the Tennessee River-1873

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he old black man tottered briefly as Mathias lifted him from the wooden wagon. Afterwards, Mathias followed the gray-whiskered Solomon as he made slow progress through the brush along the old trail near the Tennessee River. More than once the old man’s polished cane caught in the underbrush. Nonetheless, Solomon found the weed-encrusted pile of rocks a few feet to the south of the trail. “There ‘tis,” Solomon said as he pointed the cane. “Why we disturbin’ the sleep of a witch, I don’t know. Jeremiah goin’ be mighty mad if he find out.” “Don’t worry about Jeremiah. He won’t find out. Besides, war’s over long ago. No more whuppins, old man.” “Easy for you to say. He need you. I can’t do nothin’ no more. I just a freeloader with no options. He leave me hangin’ on ‘cause I bend ta’ him.” “Jeremiah not letting you hang on, Solomon. That Sister Sarah all the way. Don’t mix the two.” “Just afraid, Mathias. Just afraid.” “You have a clean conscience now.” “Maybe. This witch scarin’ me now. You sure movin’ her bones the right thing?” “Josey wants it. Sarah wants it. Don’t need no more reason. Now get outta’ my way while I move these here rocks. You thin an’ brittle. Bust up good if I slip and drop one of these on you.” “’Member, Mathias. You promise me not to bury her in the cemetery. That where I be one of these days.” 371

EPILOGUES “I never intended to.” “You buryin’ her with Jacob, ain’t ya’. You never told me where you put him.” “Don’t worry about it. My and Josey’s problem now.” Huntsville, Alabama – The Present

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he hill above the Flint River was rocky but offered a western view of Alabama sunsets, much like Jared and Melissa’s home. It also offered privacy, it being as far away from a road and the house as possible. It was just the three of them, Jared, Melissa, and Sarah. Like Jikindi Muso’s gravesite, Nika and Jacob’s used limestone headstones as well. Somehow the limestone’s slow erosion seemed fitting, as if their memories lasted only as long as those who knew their stories passed them down. No ceremony was held. Jared manhandled the stones with help of their tractor. Jared and Sarah positioned them with a little elbow grease and a winch from Jared’s UTV. Of course, Mel being pregnant abstained but offered advice. Now they quietly sat in front of the freshly turned dirt, enjoying the spring air. “Thank you for the journal, Jared,” said Sarah. “But it wasn’t necessary.” “Yes, it was. Jikindi picked the lineage of Josey and Mathias to protect Nika. Jacob wants it that way, especially since Nika is with him now. But thanks for letting us make a copy of it first…and the extra pages. It’s unusual that so young a man with that kind of father could be so…” “Complete?” suggested Sarah. “Yes, in a perfect world,” replied Jared as he chewed on a long stem of grass. “But Jikindi had our back. Sometimes love is not enough.” “Then until God returns, or mankind chooses His message, let us be thankful for warriors bound by love. Let us be thankful for Jikindi,” said Sarah. “For everything they have done, they deserve time alone,” said Jared. “I wonder what they are doing?” asked Melissa. “Anything they want,” he said.

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he sandy African soil squished wetly between their toes. A blanket was laid at their feet. A small but pleasurable meal awaited their dream. The shallow river drifted by unhurried as the black farmer and his mate emerged from the clear waters. Dripping wet, he pulled his wife with him to the tall baobab tree where they plucked a few of the ripe sour fruits referred to as monkey bread. They brought these to the blanket where Jikindi awaited. “Did you enjoy the water?” asked Jikindi as she worked the knitting needles to weave the colorful cap. “Yes,” replied Jacob as he tossed the fruit to the ground. “When will we eat?” “Soon enough.” Jikindi removed the cap from the needles and placed it on Jacob’s black wooly hair. “Stop. They never fit, and it is too warm for a cap anyway.” “It is not for comfort. You’ll wear it for my pleasure.” She playfully slapped his hands and pulled the cap over his head despite his objections. “Your knitting needs work. Why try something you’re no good at?” suggested Jacob. “Because I have all the time I need; and this is my dream, not yours.” “Mamaw, Jacob has not tilled his garden, nor talked with his mother in awhile,” said Nika. “His garden will wait. Sarah understands too. She has things to keep her busy and happy. We have all the time any of us needs or desires.” Jikindi prepared their cheese and fruit for their repast. As they sat, another woman walked by long enough to stop and wave. Jikindi waved back to the woman with the scarred facial tattoos of dots and lines. The woman walked with her small child to wash at the river’s edge as Jikindi watched in enjoyment of their mutual pleasure. Only then did Jikindi stop long enough to recall a joke. They all laughed together, even though it was not particularly funny.

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SPOILER ALERT – Character Index

SPOILER ALERT - Character Index Major Characters Pemba – One of the ‘celestial’ twins of Mande legend. A demon spirit who has lived for centuries but is captured with the dark side of Nika’s soul within the thorn maze. He is a body switcher, able to possess or influence multiple bodies at once though his abilities are restrained when applied to females. His twin sister, Muso Koroni, had an incestuous relationship with him. However, due to Jikindi, Pemba lost his connection to Muso Koroni. Muso Koroni created the thorn to control and imprison Pemba, whom she will not destroy as she still loves her brother and lover despite his failings. Due in large part to the lack of a physical body, possessions of other humans by the twins tend to be sensual and epicurean. Muso Koroni – One of the ‘celestial’ twins of Mande legend. A demon spirit who has lived for centuries but is changed by Jikindi and moved from the dark side. She is a body switcher like her twin brother, Pemba, able to possess or influence multiple bodies at once though her abilities are restrained when applied to males. Her twin brother, Pemba, had an incestuous relationship with her. However, she broke off that relationship with her brother and lover, choosing instead an eternity of exile within the thorn maze in The Infinitesimal as penance once she felt guilt for her many sins. Muso Koroni created the thorn to control and imprison Pemba, whom she will not destroy as she still loves her brother and lover. Jikindi Bandeh - Jikindi has many of the same powers as Muso Koroni and is a powerful witch who can also possess the bodies of other females and in fact did that for several generations. Jikindi was an evil dark witch until converted by her daughter, Halla. Jikindi, in turn, changed Muso Koroni, opening Koroni to guilt and compassion and bringing about her break with her brother and lover, Pemba. For this role, Pemba hates Jikindi and plotted her spiritual death, even though he loved her as he loved his sister. Jikindi is also Baaku’s twin sister. She and Baaku are very powerful witches, almost as capable as Koroni and Pemba. Because their potential was recognized at birth, they were regularly possessed by Pemba and Koroni, even as children. 374

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SPOILER ALERT - Character Index (continued) Mid-Major Characters Halla – Though only mentioned and never introduced, she is a transforming character. She is Jikindi’s daughter who was apparently so completely virtuous that her death, both physical and spiritual, changed Jikindi for good. Baaku Bandeh – Jikindi’s twin brother. However, Halla’s death had a domino effect, even on Baaku, who was temporarily turned from the dark side. Pemba pulled him back and possessed him when he was an old man which led to the destruction of Mande Faro.

Minor Characters Jerry Steward – A worker at the U.S. Army’s Sparkman Center who is temporarily possessed by Pemba to counter a drug given to him by Jikindi that limits Pemba’s powers.

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Author’s Note

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Author’s Note I don’t want to mislead the reader. I expanded beyond the myths of the Mande to make my story interesting, a storyteller’s prerogative. Nonetheless, I felt it appropriate to add detail for background. I extrapolate most of this from Yves Bonnefoy’s Mythologies (see Acknowledgments). Pemba and Muso Koroni, the Celestial Twins, powerful spirit entities, who command my protagonists’ attention, are named from the Malinke and Bambara tribes or language groups of the Mande. The same goes for Mangala, or God. However, in the Dogon version of the mythology Pemba goes by the name of Ogo while Muso Koroni is named Yasigui. Mangala is named Amma. Twinning is a dominant theme of West African mythology. Mangala created Pemba and Koroni as a mixed set of twins and anticipated that humans would always be born as mixed twins if it had not been for Pemba’s interruption of Mangala’s intentions. Even after Mangala’s attempts to rectify his mistakes, humans would be born with twin souls, one male and one female. One of the souls animates the body while the other remains in the power of the Creator, so Pemba or Koroni’s crimes will not be repeated. Pemba or Ogo later took the form of a fox who became known as the Trickster. In all of the versions Pemba and Muso Koroni were mischievous, their impure and licentious acts having dire consequences for mankind and for Mangala who desired that his initial creation of them be changed for the better. Both blood and placenta take an expansive role in their myths as does the tiny seed of the African grain, fonio, a member of the millet family. I thought it interesting to see the analogy of the tiny seed of the fonio to a small, almost invisible star in the vicinity of Sirius. The “Star of the Fonio” was animated by the word or thoughts of God (Amma or Mangala), exploded, and became the universe. Consequently, their myth of the creation is much like a cosmologist’s theory that our universe is born a tiny pinprick that exploded in the ‘Big Bang’. Bonnefoy dwells on many more aspects of ‘twinning’, but I won’t go further into those. The reader may check Bonnefoy’s scholarly work for more information into the myth’s various twists and turns. 377

About the Author

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About the Author Dale “Steve” Gierhart is a retired business manager for the United States Army. Based in Huntsville, Alabama on Redstone Arsenal, his career lasted from 1975 to 2010 in which he managed contracts, finances/accounting, and cost estimating for several missile defense systems, among which were Stinger, Avenger, Chaparral, Sentinel, JLENS, SLAMRAAM, and Non-Line of Sight. He hails from Shawnee, Oklahoma; but most of his adult life has been spent in the beautiful hills of North Alabama where he lives with his wife, Bonny, who raises Tennessee Walking Horses. Between them, Steve and Bonny have 5 children and 7 grandchildren and another on the way. Steve enjoys writing now that he is retired and plans more excursions of the imagination. He and Bonny, a retired engineer who worked as a contractor on several NASA and Army programs, will travel in their retirement though 15 horses, 4 dogs and 3 cats can crimp the best of plans.

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