Content Note: for use of racist slur

 

Sometimes when the desert poppies bloom all over and the moon rides high over the lonesome hills, a body gets a yearning to shake that ass. Tommy ain’t never burnt up the dance floor, and with his limp and all, he’s more like to fall asleep watching old movies on a Saturday night than hit the club. I ain’t no spring chicken, but I ain’t yet fit for the stew pot, and that’s how I found myself rocking up to the Antelope Valley’s second-finest drag bar wearing a Stetson, painted-on Levi’s, and the shiniest Prada knockoff button-down I could mop from the outlet mall in Barstow.

Cactus Candace’s is in an industrial park in Palmdale behind one of them chain restaurants with a brewery in the middle. Old-timey Wild West façade with wood planking outside ain’t do shit to disguise that Candace’s is a re-purposed old warehouse with a liquor license. Still, the drinks are cheap and the trade is rough. Forty minutes’ drive from where me and Tommy stay, but that’s a damn sight better than going all the way down to West Hollywood to get a twenty-dollar mojito and your wallet lifted by a twink with fillers.

No cover at Candace’s, but I had me a fistful of dollars to tip the queens brave enough to pop they pussies to Shania Twain in front of a bunch of downlow machinists and truck stop hustlers. Got there about two hours before the show was set to start, and knowing queens, about three before it actually did. There’s a separate dance floor walled off in a little room next to where the main stage is. Mechanical bull in the corner. Hay bales. Knotted pine bar. Graffiti art mural of a Joshua tree against a sunset on the exposed cinderblock wall. Hokey, but cozy, long as you don’t look up and notice that warehouse ceiling. The DJ, Tony, liked to play a mix of ranchera, salsa, and diva pop hits. Knots of men were getting friendly in dark corners. Wasn’t much of nobody dancing, but the bass was bumping, and I hit the floor shameless as an Unc at a wedding shouting “What you know ‘bout this” to Earth, Wind & Fire. Wasn’t too long before others joined me, and I found myself grinding to Selena up against a roughneck with a gang tattoo on his neck.

Roughneck got maybe a spell too handsy, and I ain’t yet got my drank on, so I slipped away and headed to the bar. Sweet young things head down Los Angeles way, but there was plenty of seasoned men for me to look at. I was appreciating a papí with a handlebar moustache and a step-on-me smile, when he strolled in. Big fine redbone motherfucker. Thicc. Ain’t missed a meal in his goddamned life. I was two beers in, but this nigga made me parched. We made eye contact. He winked, moved close, then snatched the Stetson from my head and headed to the mechanical bull. Now, my waves was laid due to the judicious application of Blue Magic hair grease and a du-rag, but I liked that hat, so I followed after him. Got me a front row seat to the show.

When Mama said “thick thighs save lives” she most surely had this nigga in mind. I seen that bull toss motherfuckers who got lit on whiskey sours and decided they was rodeo stars. But redbone’s thighs clenched its sides for dear life every time it spun and bucked. One hand on the rope, the other with my Stetson waving in the air like he was doing the second line. About a minute, it slowed to a stop, he hopped off and put my hat back on my head. “What they call you, cowboy?” I yelled over Mónica Naranjo.

“Drew,” he said. Finger gun aimed at my chest. “What’s your name?”

“Elijah,” I lied.

He nodded. Put an arm around my waist. Pulled me in for a kiss. He tasted sweet and salty. I got excited. He pulled me tighter. His breath hot on my cheek. “Wanna take me for a ride in your chariot of fire, Elijah?”

Couldn’t take him home, but wasn’t finna say no.

We took my pickup. About a half hour from Candace’s there’s some gravel back roads near the poppy reserve where the night sky is splintered all through with stars. In the morning the fields for miles around burn orange with blooms like the sun itself poured over them fields. Drew squeezed my knee, and I had half a mind to head back into town and look for a cheap motel, but I ached for that starry sky near as much as I thirsted for him. “Ain’t seen you ’round Cactus Candace afore,” I said. Conversating wasn’t really on my mind, but Mama raised me right.

“I’m not from here,” he said. His hand crept up my thigh. “It’s a business trip.”

I sighed. Took the turn off onto a gravel road. He slid closer as the truck bumped down it. “Your business bronco bucking?”

Squeeze. “I’m a government contractor of sorts.”

I nodded. Can’t throw a pebble in the Antelope Valley without hitting an aerospace company.

He ain’t ask me a damn thing but my name, and maybe the mystery was part of it for him, so I turned on the radio. He nibbled on my ear. We came to a place below the hills where the valley stretched out down before. I pulled over. Grabbed a blanket from under the seat. It smelled a little like dog but was mostly clean. I hopped out and tossed the blanket into the truck’s flatbed. Drew sat there in the passenger seat for a spell, then stepped out into the moonlight. His shadow stretched long behind him. It rippled across the ground like cane syrup.

I spread out the blanket. Shrugged out my shirt. Kept on the Stetson. Leaned back to look at the stars. Drew purred, “I love a skinny man with a big dick.”

He undressed slow. Like a strip tease. Lord, them thighs! Strong and broad. Wanted to climb him like a tree. I was greedy for his body. Pushed him back on his stomach and kissed my way down his spine. That ass was fat, and firm, and fine. I gave it a squeeze and parted them ample cheeks. Plunged my face into it like I was bobbing for apples. Clean smell, with just the hint of sweat. Teased him with my lips, my nose, my chin. When my tongue found its mark, I felt them thighs tremble, and he opened himself to me. They ain’t call me mouthy for nothing.

I got him good and wet and slippery. He turned and pushed me down on my back. Got astride me. Pushed himself down on me. He was tight and sweet. I started to buck against him just as hard as that old mechanical bull. I felt the strength of them thighs squeeze against me. Them strong hands was delicate across my belly. Fluttering. Guiding me. He snatched off my Stetson again, waved it in the air, cried, “Giddyup!”

Spent and covered in sweat, I lay on my back, looking at that big old moon. Don’t smoke no more—that’s Tommy’s vice—but I wanted to light up. Drew sat across from me, cleaning himself off with a rag.

I sat up. “You let me tap that three or four more times, and we’ll catch the sun rise. The poppies will bust open. It’s like being in heaven, or Oz.”

His smile was tight. That bootstrap molasses shadow stretched behind him. “I’d love that, I really would. But my schedule is a little too tight for that, Davion.”

Desert nights is cold. But that ain’t why I shivered. I told that nigga my name was Elijah. Gave him a customer service smile. Slipped back into my jeans. Hopped out the flatbed. But as I got to the cab, his voice thundered. “Stop.”

I stopped. I ain’t want to. I wanted to reach into the glove box. But I was just as still as if I was playing freeze tag. I stood in place for what seemed like forever. He came round to face me, dressed now. His shadow had all the colors of spilled gasoline. He buttoned up the cuffs of his sleeves. “You were going for the glove compartment, where you keep a handgun. Were you planning to kill me?”

I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t move.

He nodded at his shadow. “You may speak. But don’t lie to me again, Davion.”

I gasped. My mouth felt dry. “I ain’t tell you my name, not finna trust you. But I ain’t just gonna blast you for that. Just wanted protection.”

He nodded real slow. “Understandable. Especially since I planned to kill you earlier.” He waved a hand. “You may move.”

I fell to my knees. My muscles ached. This bitch. “Was the dick so good you got second thoughts about serial killing?”

“I told you I was a government contractor, Davion. Can you think of a reason why the government might be interested in you and Thomas?” His smile was mean.

“He goes by Tommy.” This magic bitch ain’t know everything.

“Oh, I know. But you both know someone who only ever referred to him by Thomas. Now does that make things any clearer?”

My stomach flipped. Miz Boudreaux, dead and gone for over a year now, always called my man “Thomas.” I jutted out my chin. Never been a snitch. Being dead ain’t gonna stop that. “I ain’t gotta tell you shit. You gonna hoodoo me to death, then get on with it. It’s cold.”

“I don’t plan to kill either of you presently.” He looked at his shadow. “I’ve been convinced.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I execute contracts for the Arbitration Service of America—”

“Goddamn magic police.” I spat on the ground.

“More than that, but in your case, just so.” He turned his back to me. “I execute contracts for them, but have no great love for them, or the government in general.”

“And what? You’re letting me go free because your heart grew three sizes?”

He paced around. “I’m very skilled at hunting down rogue magicians that are beyond ordinary Arbitration Service methods. Dangerous people. Desperate people. Lightning bolts and earthquakes.” He cocked his head. “But he assures me you both are resolutely unmagical.”

“I ain’t studying about him, whoever. He ain’t out here in the desert right now.”

Drew’s shadow moved on its own. Ignored the light. I seen plenty of weird shit. Been on the run from weird shit for most of my life now. Bit my lip to keep from screaming all the same.

“I have a partner. And he insisted that magic only happens around you, never emanates from you. A fact I confirmed by your inability to counter the very simple command sigil I wrote on your taut little belly.”

Weird shit. “What now?”

He smiled. “The two of you managed to kill highly trained ASA agents, destroy a very expensive piece of magical homing technology, then disappear for over twenty years without so much as a trace. Until last year. That’s fascinating.”

“So what now?”

“I didn’t originally come for you. Finding you was a bit of a happy accident. I was casing a priority two, so imagine my surprise when an old, old contract made itself known to me.” Drew licked his lips. “I have a proposition for you.”

Every time someone says that, it means trouble and usually trouble with weird shit. Last time a dead woman possessed Tommy and we got swarmed by evil birds. But he had me by the balls, and not for the first time that night. “Go on?”

“You’re not on anyone’s radar but mine. ASA probably assumes you’re both dead. I can keep it that way, for the tiniest of favors. Normally, I’d just collect the bounty on all three of you.”

“If you was just gonna murk us, what we fuck for?”

Drew shrugged. “It was fun?”

I was a bit salty at that, but he ain’t lie.

“That’s off the table now.” Drew continued, “My partner has taken an interest in you. Your Miz Boudreaux made a bargain on your behalf with him, after all.”

“Thought she made the bargain with death.”

He smiled. “Simplistic. But true, after a fashion.”

On the way back to the house, Drew was all charm and sweetness. Easy smile, mild tone. He grew up in LA, near Leimert Park. Bougie family. Went to a liberal arts college. Tried it as a poet before turning to hoodoo hunting. I ain’t trust the nigga. Bel Biv DeVoe warned us in the ’90s; treachery in that big ass, that bougie nice boy smile.

“I’m telling you now, Tommy ain’t gonna be happy to see you. He don’t wake up friendly. And our hound Newport ain’t gonna be happy about your spooky shadow shit neither.”

The house was a work in progress. Tommy got some construction materials on the cheap from one of his no ‘count uncles, and another one did all the plumbing and wiring. The permits was real though, and it was only a matter of time before we had an inspection. When it’s done, it’ll be a real showcase compared to the dusty old trailer we had. But pulling up right then with that bougie redbone in my passenger seat, I felt ashamed of the tarp covering the half that ain’t yet finished.

Didn’t expect Tommy to wait up for me. But he set up on the porch in that old rocking chair I hated. Big as day with a look twice as ugly. Blanket on his lap. Newport at his feet. He needed a shave; his blond beard was shot through with gray. I swerved to a stop. The pickup kicked up dust in the front yard and dislodged some tumbleweed. Wish one of Tommy’s bullshit uncles knew how to xeriscape.

I jumped out the truck, ready with an explanation. But he steady mean-mugged Drew. His voice was all Nebraska farm boy. “Davion. Reckon you and me had an understanding. Tricks don’t come home.”

I looked over at Drew. “Shit. This nigga ain’t pay me.”

Tommy winced at what he called “the n-word.” I rolled on. “Hear me out, I know he look shysty, but he’s here on business. I ain’t rock up with him here for nothing.”

Drew got out of the pickup. Newport toddled over to him. Licked his hand and whined. Circled his feet and curled up in his weird shadow. Traitor.

Tommy sighed. Stood up. Wrapped his blanket around his shoulders like a shawl. “Reckon if Newport don’t wanna tear his face off, he might as well come in. I’ll make coffee.”

The three of us sat around the kitchen table. I brought Tommy up to speed, leaving out certain details because I ain’t want him to shove a roll of Certs at me. His coffee was bad enough without wintermint. Tommy furrowed his brow. “You mean to tell me he came here to kill us, but instead wants us to do a job because we robbed a bank back in the black and white days?”

“Don’t self-incriminate, fool!” I snapped a little.

Drew held up his hands. “It’s not the bank robbing that’s important. You two are marvelously ordinary. You can go to a place I can’t because of this.”

Tommy scowled. “And you couldn’t just pay a couple of kids to do whatever?”

Drew shook his head. “I need crooks.”

Tommy said, “We’re retired.”

I nodded. “Got us a rocking chair out front and everything.”

Drew continued, “I need crooks, and I need crooks that know that magic works, but can’t use it. And I need lucky crooks that know that magic works. You boys fit the bill.”

I stretched in my chair. “Can’t say I’m feeling so lucky.”

Newport raised his head for scritches from Drew and fixed me with a long gaze.

Drew stroked my hound just like they was old friends. “I can’t tell you how lucky you were that it was me of all people who found you first.” Newport whimpered.

Tommy slurped his coffee. “What are we meant to do?”

Drew stirred milk into his coffee but didn’t take a sip. “Sunday morning soon enough. I need you to go to church.”

Tommy scoffed. “You’re the worst missionary I ever seen.”

“Think I might combust if they threw holy water on me,” I said.

“Do you know Sister Angelica Worth?”

I nodded. “She had billboards. Does faith healing. Speaks in tongues. Used to be on the TV before they changed over to high definition.”

“Precisely,” Drew said. “The tongues are gobbledy-gook. But the healing is real, although faith isn’t what fuels it. She’s a nasty piece of work.”

Tommy said, “I got principles. Not fixing to kill an old woman.”

Drew’s gaze was real cold. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Tommy turned red. “That was self-defense.”

Drew nodded. “And I’m not asking you to kill Sister Angelica. I’m just asking you to go to her church and leave an offering.”

“Don’t she run a megachurch down in Garden Grove? That’s a long ways from here. And mighty public.”

Drew shook his head. “That’s long gone. Rumors of financial malfeasance. Recriminations. Membership dropped. She has a much smaller congregation now in a storefront in Lancaster.”

Tommy said, “Not spitting distance, but not a trek either.” He looked at me. I nodded. He sighed. “Can’t rightly say I like it, but I’ve been tired of looking over my shoulder. How’s this work?”

Drew pulled two zip drives from his pocket. “These are your files. There are paper versions, if you want a copy. You do this tiny little favor, and I’ll send these back to the ASA with a marker that you’ve been terminated.”

Tommy sucked his teeth. “And the government is just gonna believe you, with no evidence?”

Drew shrugged. “The way I execute contracts doesn’t often leave a lot of evidence. That’s a reason they pay me.”

Tommy frowned. “Reckon we don’t got much choice in the matter.”

“What’s the offering?” I asked.

Drew pulled out two coins. One was an old, battered Susan B. Anthony dollar. The other was a newer Sacagawea dollar, gold-colored. He handed me the Susan, and Tommy the Sacagawea. “Sit separately. Davion, you put in your coin first. After Davion’s coin is in the basket or collection plate or whatever, Tommy you can put yours in at any time. Once both are in her possession, you’re free to go. And I’ll hold up my end of the bargain.” He twirled the zip drives.

Tommy looked skeptical. “These coins going to melt her face or call up a flock of evil birds?”

Drew shook his head. “Nothing like that. It works like a key to open a lock she’s put up.”

I got up from the table. “Tommy, you want me to press your Sunday best?”

Me and Tommy rolled into town just after nine. Tommy pulled at his collar. “Too tight,” he said.

“Unbutton it.”

“Don’t wanna look sloppy.” He fussed with hair that had fallen out of place.

I shrugged. “Ain’t like you’re running for deacon.”

Tommy frowned. “It’s a church.”

We was in the parking lot. What I saw was a converted old grocery store with blacked out windows and a vinyl sign that read Church of Heavenly Light of Jesus Christ. Big poster of Sister Angelica. Rings on her fingers like a realtor. Ain’t see no steeple or stained glass. I kept my mouth shut. Can’t nobody tell Tommy nothing when he sets his jaw like that.

“You reckon it was a good idea to leave Newport with that man?”

I shrugged. “Newport took to him like he knew him from a pup.”

Tommy scowled. “He’s an old dog and can’t see right. If that man does anything to him…”

Wasn’t nothing I could say to ease Tommy’s mind, but I didn’t see the point of fretting. I looked down at my wrist. “Synchronize our watches?”

Another scowl. “You don’t got no watch.”

“Always wanted to say that.” I’m going in first.

Mama once took me to a Pentecostal revival in a tent up Battle Mountain way, but this church was somehow less churchy than them old snake handlers hooting in cheap suits. Folding chairs. Banners on the wall reading Believe! And Trust! No altar to speak of. Just a mic-stand in front of another big poster of Sister Angelica. Looked more to me like a seminar to teach how to sell timeshares or cosmetics than a place of worship. Crowd was decent though. Bit younger than I was expecting; them folks at the revival averaged about fifty. Here was a mix. From cradle to grave you could find them here. Men in cheap business suits. Women in they designer finest. Farmworkers in dirty coveralls. Bored teens. Folk with crutches. Found me a seat at the end of a row near the front. Tommy sat all the way in the back. Ain’t nobody near him. Big and blond as he was, he stuck out. I hoped they took collections early. That tent revival lasted damn near six hours.

An old man with Coke-bottle glasses and a clip-on tie sat down at the electric organ and began to play. Sounded more to me like one of them songs they use to ramp up excitement in a baseball crowd than any sort of hymn, but the church folk started to sing along. Some shit about salt and life. Clapped on the one and three. The song hit an offkey crescendo and the church folk all stood, me a beat behind. Sister Angelica came out from a door in the back. That poster of her must have been thirty years old. She was a tiny woman. What mama called “well-preserved” and what I reckon was Botox. Big dandelion of teased copper hair. Way too much mascara for any one person. Pouty little mouth with bubblegum lipstick. Sharp nails to match. She wore a white robe with sequins and platform heels that added a good six inches to her height. She made a beeline for the mic. Her voice was kindergarten-teacher sweet. “Good morning, sinners!”

“Good morning, Sister Angelica!” them church folk howled.

“I just feel so blessed and favored to stand here in Christian fellowship with you fine people. May the Lord bless and keep you!”

“May the Lord bless and keep you!” The church people roared back. The organist began to play a low, rumbling chord. The congregation sat.

“In Jesus name!” Sister Angelica shouted. “The world is wicked and cruel, but through His blood are we redeemed!”

Another organ chord. Church people swayed along. Sister Angelica lifted her face up and spread out her arms. “Now before we begin our morning of celebration and worship, in Jesus’s name, let us think upon those less fortunate. The hungry. The destitute. The poor. The poor in spirit!” The organist pounded on the keys at the word “spirit.” Sister Angelica began to weep. “Let us think on those loved ones, those lost souls with compassion! And begin our day of joy with an offering in the name of these unfortunates.”

This was it. Ain’t gotta sit through praise dancing. Ain’t nobody falling on the floor. I got my coin ready. Two ushers came from the back with baskets on long handles. Sister Angelica said some shit about rewards in heaven, but all I could focus on was dropping in my coin and getting the fuck out of there. Wasn’t too long before the basket reached me. I said “Hallelujah” and dropped old Susan B. right in. But the moment that coin hit the basket, Sister Angelica turned to face me. “Stop!” She shouted, and I felt my body tense up just like in the desert. The ushers pulled back their baskets. There was a snake-mean look on her face before she was back to sweetness. “The Lord has given me a vision!”

“Praise His holy name!” The church folk shouted.

“We have some new visitors to the congregation! Their hearts are heavy with sin!”

The church folk murmured. Sister Angelica smiled. Dabbed at her eye with a cloth. “But God is good!”

“All the time!” the church folk shouted.

“And it is given to me to cleanse them of their sin in the blood of the Lamb!” She pointed a bubblegum pink talon at me. “Stand, my child!”

I stood. I ain’t had no choice.

“Tell me your name?”

I felt words bubble up in me. But also, I ain’t gotts tell the truth. “Elijah!”

“Named for a prophet of the Lord! His mercy be upon you! You shall be healed! You shall be cleansed. Testify of your sins!”

“I cut the tags off of mattresses. I ran with scissors! I committed simony with lust in my heart!”

The church folk gasped. Sister Angelica frowned for a moment, then looked past me to the back row. “You!” She shouted. She pointed at Tommy. “I feel the touch of demons upon you!” The church folk murmured.

She wept. “Stand!” Tommy rose. Sister Angelica placed a hand over her chest. “What is your name?”

“Thomas, but I’m called Tommy,” he said. Why that damn fool told the truth. He heard me lie!

“Testify of your sins!”

Tommy began to weep. “Envy! Wrath! I have lain with a man in sin! I have stolen garments from shopping malls. I have lied on official forms about my income. I have been possessed by the dead—” Seemed like he was going in reverse chronological order. I hoped he stopped before he got to the murder and bank robbery.

“Stop!” Sister Angelica said. “I can smell it on you! The brimstone! The hellfire! But you shall be washed clean!”

“Praise Him!” the church folk shouted, Tommy with them.

“Follow the usher, and we shall wash away your sin!”

Tommy rose and headed to the back of the room all childlike, disappearing through a curtained doorway. I stood there. Couldn’t move. Could I speak? “Sister Angelica! I want to be cleansed!”

Another snake-mean look. “You too, follow the usher.”

I walked towards the back like a puppet on strings. When I got there, Tommy had stripped down to his skivvies. An usher had helped him into a white robe. He stood in front of a wading pool. The water stank. Like something that died in a crawlspace. Couldn’t move once I got there. “Tommy, you don’t want to take a dip in that shit! Smells like the bathroom in Tuco’s after Pride Month.”

Tommy, my Tommy, would have laughed at this. Told me to cut out my foolishness. But this Tommy said, “I want to be cleansed of sin.”

I could hear the organ playing a hymn. A woman’s voice sang about being soldiers in the army of the Lord. Claps on one and three. Sister Angelica entered the room. All smiles and sweetness gone. “Are you ready to give your lives?” She asked. She ain’t add “to the Lord.”

Tommy said, “Yes!”

Sister Angelica stood by the wading pool. “Come to me, Thomas. And we will cleanse you of sin.” Tommy stepped forward.

Now I know he ain’t never want to bathe in that nasty ass wading pool. Something was different. He didn’t give his coin.

I blurted, “Jesus said if you want to be perfect, sell all you have and give to the poor! You didn’t give to the poor first. Don’t you want to be perfect?”

Tommy turned to look at me. His eyes were all glassy. “Yes. I want to be perfect.” He turned to Sister Angelica. Gestured at his clothes. “Take my things, Sister.”

The organist stopped. Gibbering and cackling from the loudspeakers. The sound of horns. I could move, I rushed towards Tommy, who walked over towards that stank ass pool. I heard “Watch out!” and I knew what song played. Screamin’ Jay Hawkins. “I Put a Spell on You.” Reached out to pull Tommy back, but he shouted, “Fucking cleanse yourself!” and shoved Sister Angelica into the wading pool.

Jesus, it stank. I doubled over, fit to hurl.

“Let’s get out of this bitch,” Tommy said.

But Sister Angelica was back on her feet. “You!” She pointed at Tommy. He hit the deck. The usher standing behind him burst into flame. Screamed. Flailed into that nasty ass pool. She made gestures. “You’re going to pay for this!”

Tommy fell slack on the floor.

Seen a shadow creep across the floor. Not black, but all colored like gasoline with oil slick rainbows. I knew that shadow. Sister Angelica was chanting something. The wading pool started to bubble like old gumbo. I heard a voice. Like Drew. Like Screamin’ Jay Hawkins. Be my horse.

Be your what?

My Horse. Let me in.

I saw the hand over the usher at the edge of the wading pool. Covered with scales. Sprouting spikes. An eyeball blinked on the wrist. Fuck that!

Ride me, daddy!

The shadow flowed towards me, over me, in me. Everything went still. I could see magic. Like spiderwebs. Like motes of dust. Like a meteor shower on a black night. I ain’t stop being me, but also I was him. Older, bigger, darker than anything I ever felt before. I felt his smile on my lips. The voice that came out was more Screamin’ Jay Hawkins than mine. “Ain’t this a mess ri’chere,” we said.

She stopped chanting. Turned to me. Shouted, “Ebosendai!”

Saw her hair raise up. Smelled ozone. Blue and bright and hot, lighting arced from her hands. It passed over me. Us. I felt his annoyance. His amusement? He spoke through my mouth, this time the voice was high and nasal. “Ma chère amie, I wouldn’t waste precious time calling up the thunder, me. You know me. Speak my name.”

Ain’t never seen nobody as scared as the Sister. “Baron!” she said.

I felt his smile. So wide it hurt. “Seeing as we are such very close acquaintances, you may dispense with the formalities and call me Saturday.”

“I bound you from here! With blood and stone! With the oldest names. With ash and salt and iron.”

We sucked our teeth. “You have caused me a little inconvenience.” He let me see what she had done. Stealing little bits of life from her parishioners. Siphoning a year here, six there. Sometimes she sold it on. Mostly kept it for herself. I could feel her greed.

She fell to her knees. “My lord, I can serve you! Let me be of use.”

“You shall,” we said. “I will take from you what is owed to me.”

Ain’t gonna lie, she was a hateful witch. Her heart was ugly. But when I seen her face, I almost felt pity for her. He had none.

Them years she mopped? Hundreds. She was maybe seventy, but she had gorged on life so many times. He took them all back. Ain’t take more than three seconds for her to go from old to very old to dust. And then He was gone. So was the magic.

I ran over to Tommy. Rolled him on his back. He was breathing, but slow. I kissed his dumb fucking face. His skin was clammy. “You better live, you cornfed motherfucker!”

He opened his eyed. Croaked at me. “Davion?”

“Ain’t the boogie man,” I said.

“Reckon I’m through with weird shit,” he said.

“You ain’t never lie,” I said. “Hope there’s a back door to this bitch. Them church people finna be mad.”

Screamin’ Jay Hawkins laughed over the loudspeaker.

 

(Editors’ Note: Christopher Caldwell is interviewed by Caroline M. Yoachim in this issue.)

© 2026 Christopher Caldwell