TEN
“Oh, yes, your mama done told me a fib, now, didn’t she?” Maguire said, a canary-eating cat smile setting up camp on his face. May knew she was the bird, and that even though he was enjoying every second of batting her around, soon tooth and claw would come out. She hesitated, her skin tingling as she contemplated fleeing.
“Look at it, Sterling,” Maguire’s words pulled her from her calculations. “Isn’t it beautiful?” May’s eyes followed the men’s stares right down to her own hands, her own fingertips that were alive with the same blue-green sparks she’d spent a lifetime trying to extinguish. “This isn’t just some old Doc Buzzard hair, spit, and metal shavings buried under your porch. That there is real magic.”
Doctor Buzzard. A single name shared by many root doctors, men who with varying degrees of sincerity and skill worked Hoodoo, taking your hard-earned money to put a fix on your enemy or—worse yet—remove the fix your enemy put on you. A lot of the Buzzards were charlatans, plain and simple, but there were a few, a precious few, who really did know how to work magic. These men, the ones who weren’t just playacting, mostly didn’t mess around with curses and fixes. No, the men with real power spent their time trying to help people.
’Course it wasn’t just men. Plenty of women working the Hoodoo, too. The women weren’t called “Doctor,” though. They were always referred to as “Mother.” Folk around Savannah had always assumed May’s mother was just another of these root doctors, but deep down May had always known better. Even though Mother Tuesday had refused to share the details of her magic with her daughter, May had always known her mama had tapped into a source of power that the others didn’t even know about. May had always known that if she so desired, she could draw from that same well.
“Closer,” the older man’s voice startled her. “Closer!”
Sterling scrambled to navigate his father’s chair nearer to May. In his haste, the younger man bumped into the table, causing his half-full coffee cup to jitter around in its saucer. Maguire’s body lurched forward, unprepared for even the slightest jarring. It chilled May’s soul to watch as the elder Maguire looked up at his own flesh and blood with complete disdain. “You clumsy oaf. You tip me out, and I will see you horsewhipped. You hear me, boy?” Sterling blanched, his reaction telling May that this was no idle threat. Maguire pushed on the arm of his chair so that he could turn a tad more toward his son. “I asked if you heard me.”
“Yes, sir. I heard you,” Sterling replied. May nearly felt a twinge of sympathy for this young man. What kind of upbringing must he have had? What daily tortures had he faced at the hands of his own father? Her expression must have betrayed her thoughts, for Sterling seemed to take note of May’s softening toward him. His face hardened, forming creases and lines that shouldn’t find a home on a face so young. His eyes narrowed with a hatred so complete May shuddered under its weight. She looked away before it could bore any more deeply into her soul.
May felt Maguire’s focus return to her. She reached down and wrapped her hands up in the length of her apron, but Maguire snatched up her right hand. She struggled to free herself from his grasp, but even though his lower extremities had failed him, his hands revealed a steely strength. He watched the sparkles with an enraptured glee in his eyes.
“Yes, I knew old Tuesday was lying,” he said, turning May’s hand over so that he could see the palm. He traced the crease of her hand with his index finger, then leaned forward and attempted to kiss her palm. May’s revulsion was so complete that it gave her the added strength she needed to break free. In the same movement, she scooted her chair back a good two feet.
The old man tilted back, his eyes widening for a moment in anger, but then a hearty laugh broke free from him.
“I don’t use it.” May tried to make the statement sound matter-of-fact. Final. “I promised Mama.”
“Well, your mama is longer here. I’ve been bound to this damn chair since the day Tuesday left this world. She tried to take me with her, but all she managed to do was this.” He pulled the blanket covering his legs to one side and slapped his hand angrily against his unusable limbs. “She took my legs.” He hesitated. “And she took my power. Now you,” his right eye twitched as he spoke, “you’re gonna help fix what your mama done broke.”
He’s the one, May thought. This is the man my mother died trying to stop. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t. A vow is a vow, whether she is with us or not. She made me promise not to make the same deal she had made.” Even though May knew the other staff must have been ordered to stay away from the dining room, she still cast a nervous glance around before continuing. “My mama said she made a deal with the devil to use her magic. She made me promise I wouldn’t do as she done.”
Maguire pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. He leaned forward, his body convulsing, and at first May thought he had developed a coughing jag. When he sat back up, tears of laughter were rolling down his flushed cheeks. “Oh, my dear girl,” he said after he managed to catch his breath. “A deal with the devil?” He paused. “If only it were anywhere near that easy.”
“No, sir.” She shook her head. “No, sir. I want nothing of it. I’ve never used it. I never will.” She focused on the floor, not daring to look him in the eye.
“You used magic last night, May.” His words came out in a slow grumble. “I can smell it on you.”
May realized her head continued to shake as she spoke. “No, sir. It wasn’t me. Whatever you think I did, it wasn’t me.” May did her best to recompose herself. She forced a smile and smoothed her skirt, preparing to stand and make her exit.
“That’s the way with your kind, always lying when the truth would serve you better.” He paused, as if giving her a chance to confess, and then boomed out, “I saw you there with my own two eyes,” any pretense of civility cast aside. May startled in spite of herself. His face was nearly purple with rage.
May was an honest woman. It pained her to tell a lie, let alone be caught in one, even by a man such as this one. “Only a little. Last night was different. It was the first time. The only time. I was so afraid . . .” May’s word died in the air as she wondered again at the Maguires’ role in the events of the previous night. The father could never have managed it. The son was graceless. He could never had entered and exited with such stealth. Still, if they hadn’t done it themselves, they’d arranged for it to happen. They couldn’t have relied on magic, for the haint blue her mama had made her use at every entrance and window would’ve kept hostile magic from creeping in. No, it could only have been a flesh-and-blood intruder. May wished she knew how they’d worked it, if only to prevent it from happening again. But she dared not even confront them with their crime.
Maguire disregarded her silence. “And still, first time out, you achieved outstanding results.”
May’s knees went weak, too weak to stand. She drew her arms around herself, folding them over her chest as if to protect her heart. “Yes. I used it last night. Somehow. But I don’t know how I did it. I don’t know anything about the magic, sir. Mama, she never explained it to me.” May thought of the creature who had come to her at the edge of the clearing. She came close to mentioning her, but something told her to hold her tongue. “It just happened, like it’s happening now.” When she held up her hand, the sparks were still shooting along her fingertips. “I don’t know anything about it at all.”
“What is the source of your magic?”
“I . . .” May’s lips moved, but it took a while for her words to catch up. “I don’t know.”
Maguire’s anger faded as quickly as it had been kindled. “No, maybe you don’t,” he said and chuckled. He looked over his shoulder at Sterling. “What do you think, boy? You think she’s telling us the truth?”
“I am, Mr. Maguire. I swear it. I am sorry for any difficulties between you and my mama, but I’ll never be any trouble to you.” She forced a smile again, grateful that the tingling in her hands was starting to fade and the tiny sparks were once again disappearing. “You got nothing to worry about from May. Nothing at all.”
May’s eyes drifted up to the younger man’s face. As their eyes met, May searched for even the tiniest spark of humanity. She found only ice. “I believe her,” he said.
“Yes, I do as well,” Maguire said, turning back to May. “It’s a pity, really, that power should be wasted on one such as you. The Beekeeper—you saw her last night, don’t pretend you didn’t—that’s where your mama’s—and your—power comes from.” The name made sense to May, from the creature’s heavy veils to the way it broke apart into a thousand stinging wasps. “I’ve only ever seen the creature twice, but I’ve felt her presence many times. You could even say I’ve courted her, but she has never warmed to my overtures. This creature’s magic feels infinite. The wonders I could perform if I had access to it . . .” Maguire’s voice took on a wistful quality. “Oh, the wonders I have performed with what little power I could attain.” Images, unclean and full of cruelty, rose up in May’s mind. Her hands rose to her eyes, as if they could shield her from those scenes.
Maguire chuckled at her distress and rubbed his hands together in pleasure. “Perhaps, once I have been set to rights, I should make a study of you, but for now I believe it is I who will give you a little lesson.” He looked over his shoulder at the ever-attentive Sterling. “Help me take off my jacket.”
Sterling stood behind his father and helped him extricate himself from his suit coat, which the son then folded and draped over his arm. Freed of the jacket, Maguire unbuttoned the sleeve of his starched white shirt and slid it toward his elbow.
A scent like a freshly struck match reached May’s nose. Her nostrils flared as she pulled away from the scent. May was shocked to see the elderly man’s arm covered by scarred and blackened flesh that ran from his wrist to beyond the point on his elbow where the fabric was bunched up.
“This here,” he said twisting his arm so that May could fully take it in, “is your mama’s handiwork. A parting gift, if you will, from old Tuesday.” May shook her head and tried to avert her eyes. “Look at it,” Maguire’s words came out in a snarl, “so that you may understand what has been taken from me. You see, some people, are born to magic. It’s born right in them. Others, such as yourself and your mother, have magic come to them. Then there are people like me, those who seek magic out. I am . . . I was what some refer to as a ‘collector.’ ” The sleeve slipped down, and his ancient, mottled hand caught it and forced it back up above his elbow. “A long time ago,” Maguire said, his voice taking on a singsong quality, as he held out his forearm for her examination, “I did someone very powerful—someone who was born to magic, call him a witch if you will—a very big favor. In return, he put his mark on me. It was nothing more than a single band back then, but over time it grew.” He rubbed his hand along the scarred tissue, stopping to tap his index finger on the ruined remains of what must have been some kind of symbol. As he did so, it took on a faint and sickly luminescence, which spread out along a spider’s web of increasingly visible traces.
Maguire looked at May and nodded. “Thanks to your mama, there’s not much magic left in me at all. She damaged me so these markings no longer work the way they once did,” he said as the lines began to take on new shapes. He leaned in toward her conspiratorially, intimately, as if they were lifelong friends. “The energy of every life I took with this hand would become mine to do with as I wished.” His smile fell flat in reaction to something he must have read in her eyes. “Oh, May, even you must admit that so many people waste their potential. Rather than letting them continue to shuffle from disappointment to disaster, I relieved their worthless, unhappy souls of their burdens and turned their energy toward something more productive. In a way, it could be argued that I showed these unfortunates great kindness.
“But your mama”—his eyes took on a strange fire—“she didn’t see it that way. No. She didn’t like how I got my magic, and she sure as hell didn’t like what I did with it. I tried reason, but reason is not an arena in which the weaker sex excels.” He nodded backward toward Sterling. “Even a young fellow here like Sterling can attest to that. Can’t you, boy?”
“Yes, sir,” Sterling responded, dropping his answer as mechanically as a jukebox will play a favorite song for a nickel.
“Your mama was an extreme case. So rebellious, she was, but the women in your family always were. No matter how many times you faced the whip”—a smirk rose on his lips—“or the rod.” He leered at her, leaving May feeling soiled. His voice changed in the next instant, taking on the patient and benevolent timbre of a Sunday school teacher. “This world, you must understand, was built to work in a certain way, but your mama refused to see it. Refused to see that this world needs to have its masters. We’re the ones who carry the weight of the world and maintain order. We protect you.
“This, my girl, is the white man’s world. The way it was intended to be. I’ve spent so many years, more than you can begin to know, dedicating myself to protecting the natural order. Without men like me, there would be chaos. Your mama, she refused to understand, and she did some damage. Now it’s up to you to set things right.
“You see, May, even without my magic or my health, I am still a very powerful man. I’ve been pulling strings in your life you never even knew were there. It took no magic to make your daughter-in-law’s dreams come true. Dangle a shiny bauble before her, and I knew she’d drop those precious little grandchildren of yours right into your lap. And I knew the second you sensed one of your girls was in danger, you’d show me that magic you’ve been hiding, my girl.
“My Klan brethren were ignorant of my true aim, but they were all too happy to participate in the ceremony. Men like that are best kept ignorant. Makes it much easier to turn their hate toward your own purpose. They only ask that you let them believe the pallor of their unwashed skin is all they need to be worthwhile. You know,” he said, placing his hand under his chin, “most of the men who fought and died to preserve the institution of slavery never owned a slave. Never would, even if the North had been turned back. I believe those fellows were fighting for the right to feel superior to someone. The fools never realized they shared the same masters you colored did, only we didn’t even have to feed them.” He nodded his head as he spoke, seemingly in agreement with his own idea.
He lowered his voice and leaned in to take her hand, acting as if there should be a shared sympathy between them. She snatched it from his grasp. The look he gave her was that of an adult weary of dealing with a recalcitrant child. “If Tuesday hadn’t lied, if it were true you had no magic, then this would all be settled. Sure, you would have faced some anguish upon waking to learn the child was gone, but her fate would have remained a mystery. Each night, you could have laid your head on your pillow without the burden of involvement. But as with Eve, your rebellious nature has cost you your right to innocence. Now, I’m afraid the choice falls to you.”
Maguire reached back and motioned to Sterling. “The satchel. The satchel,” he said again, never looking at his son, merely wagging the fingers on his upturned hand until Sterling delivered the black leather bag. Maguire’s knuckles turned white as he set the bag on the plaid blanket covering his lap.
He released the handle and unzipped the bag. “If it hadn’t taken so long to track down my old friend here, we would have had this conversation much sooner.” He reached his hand into the opening and pulled out an odd-shaped container. May’s soul chilled at the mere sight of it. “Alabaster,” he said, “very cool to the touch. It belies the fire contained within.” May noticed some kind of lettering had been carved onto the bottle. At least she thought they were letters. Might be they were just pictures. One looked like an arrow.
“This type of ancient jar is what lies behind the stories of genies trapped in bottles,” Maguire said, lifting it up in a quivering hand. “It does contain a sort of djinn. A demon, if you will. Conjured into this world by none other than Gilles de Rais himself.” He returned the jar to the bag. “Sterling,” his son’s name formed a full, if unspoken, command. Sterling stepped to his father’s side and zipped up the case while it still sat on the older man’s knees. Then he moved it to the table behind his sire.
“The demon’s called Barron, but don’t let the sound of his name fool you. He’s no more royalty than you are. Just a minor sprite, really, otherwise I never would have managed to trap him in a container such as this one. No, he’s no great shakes in the grand scheme, and sadly his dark powers do not include the ability to repair the damage your mother has done to me. But he has plenty enough magic to wreak havoc on your little world.” He held up his damaged arm again as if May could possibly have forgotten the sight of it. “Barron has very particular tastes. I’m sure you understand, don’t you?”
May found herself mute with fascination. Her head turned left and right and back again, but then her eyes found his arm, and she froze in shock. The lines of Maguire’s tattoo had settled into a pattern May recognized way too easily. The features of her own grandbabies smiled up at her from three tiny faces. In the next instant, they faded clean away. May bounded to her feet, knocking the heavy, embroidered chair over. She stepped backward around it, never once taking her eyes off the Maguire men.
“There, there,” Maguire said. “No need for a scene. No need to offer up any minstrel-style shenanigans. Sterling,” he addressed his son, commanding him with a nod of his head. Sterling circled around and righted the fallen chair, then returned to his place behind his father. “So tell me, what’s it to be? Are you going to right your mother’s wrongs, or shall I set poor, starved Barron loose on those tender little girls?”
“You, you,” May stammered a moment before she found her voice, “are out of your goddamned mind?” She spun around, nearly tripping in her haste to leave.
“Think it over, May,” Maguire said in a calm, even voice. “Claim the magic that is yours. Undo your mother’s misdeeds. Save your granddaughters. Or run, knowing that Barron will be nipping at your heels the entire way, eager to suck the marrow from your grandchildren’s bones.”
May froze in her tracks, knowing she’d been defeated. Her best hope, perhaps her only hope, was to accept the power she’d tried so hard to escape. She doubted that Maguire would be sated even if she did manage to heal him. She was going to have to learn how to use the magic, fast, and hope it was enough to protect her family. There was no hope that she might one day best the man; how could she succeed where even her mama had failed? And so she turned back to the pair, the same smug smile pasted on both their faces, and asked, “What do you need me to do?”