fingers sank tighter into Tombi’s shoulder, and she squeezed, willing him to fight. “You can’t quit. Keep going.”
Tia drew a long, unsteady breath. “Ain’t but one thing left to do.” She unpacked a poultice, laid her hand directly over the open wound and prayed, then placed the poultice on the broken skin.
Annie gulped. “Aren’t you worried about infection?”
“We way past that point, child. Now I need you to help me. We goin’ to draw that poison out of his body and into mine.”
“But—we can’t. What will the poison do to you? Your heart—”
Tia held up a hand, face stern. “My time on this here earth is almost up anyhows. We gots to try. Now. What I want you to do is find that gris-gris bag full of wormwood in my bag and sprinkle it all around us.”
Annie hastily rummaged in the purse, pulled out a black satin drawstring pouch and held it to her nose. A pungent, bitter smell tickled her nostrils. “Is this the one?”
“That’s it. Now you get to work and recite parts of Psalm 91. And don’t interrupt me, no matter what. You hear me?”
Her upbringing left her no choice but to respond properly to the authority in that voice. “Yes, ma’am.”
Tia’s eyes softened, and the rigid set of her face melted. “You always been a good girl,” she said. “My shining star with the gift. You hear music where the rest of us hear silence.” She turned abruptly away. “Now get to work like I taught you.”
It felt like a farewell.
Surely not. Grandma Tia was no voodoo hack. She was the real deal. Knew things, sensed things, felt things.
Annie circled around them, a few feet out, crumbling bits of wormwood petals and letting them fall onto her path. The words of the psalm were ingrained since childhood.
“Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by day, nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness, nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.”
Heat singed upward from below where her grandmother knelt beside Tombi’s body that was sprawled on the hard ground. The sweltering air battered Annie’s temples with headache. The wormwood’s bitter, camphoraceous scent deepened, and her fingers tingled with numbness—some toxic effect of the herb intensified by the spell. A golden light flowed between Tombi’s chest and her grandma’s hand.
Annie stopped her recitation, mesmerized by the etheric glow.
Tia cast her a sharp glance. “Don’t stop.”
She cleared her throat and continued circling. “No evil shall befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling. For he shall give his angels care. They shalt tread upon the lion and adder.”
The swelling and redness of his skin decreased. Tombi stirred and wet his lips. A low moan escaped.
“It’s working,” Annie exclaimed, wanting to tap-dance around the sacred circle. The golden, healing energy had wrought a remarkable change. There was still some swelling, but the angry red streaks of infection had disappeared. “You did it, Grandma—” She stopped abruptly.
Tia’s olive skin had grayed and wrinkled even more, to the point it resembled elephant skin. Her eyes held an unhealthy glaze, as if she were burning with a fever.
Annie sank on her knees and hugged her grandma. “Don’t leave me,” she begged. “Tell me how to help you.”
A laugh so faint that even she couldn’t hear it—it could only be felt from the rumbling of Tia’s chest and throat. “It’s all in the good Lord’s hands now, child.”
Annie burrowed her head in her grandma’s gray hair with its witchy, herbal smell. The smell of home and safety and love. Her grounding force in this world.
“I’m going to get help,” she promised, mind whirling with the action she needed to take: get up, run to the cottage, find her cell phone and car keys. Call the ambulance, drive through the field, manage to get these two in the car and drive them to the cottage for the ambulance to transport them to the hospital.
Once at the hospital, the doctors would demand to know what happened...
“Hey,” Tombi asked with a note of hoarse puzzlement. “What’s going on here?”
A frisson of resentment washed over Annie. This had been his fight. Not hers. And certainly not her grandma’s. If she’d never met him, her grandma wouldn’t be hovering at death’s portal for the afterlife.
She’d sacrificed her own safety and, worse, her grandma’s health. All for a promise. One that Tombi didn’t seem in any hurry to fill.
“My grandma absorbed the poison meant for you,” she said, hot tears scalding her cheeks. “I wish I’d never met you.”
Tia’s deep olive flesh turned ashy. The glaze of her eyes and burn of her skin indicated a dangerously high fever, as if a volcano had exploded inside her body.
How much longer for that ambulance? Seemed as if it had taken hours to get her grandma back to the cottage and make the call for help. Annie held Tia’s hand and stroked her hot forehead. “Isn’t there some kind of special tea or gris-gris bag I can get for you?”
“Fetch my crystal from the altar and light a candle.” Tia’s voice was weak and hoarse. She swallowed hard. “And say a quick prayer while you’re at it.”
Annie scurried to do her bidding, glad to take action. Seeing someone in pain, especially the rock of her universe, was to suffer alongside them.
Don’t die. Sure, she’d known Tia’s heart was winding down, but Annie had expected weeks, if not months, to share with her grandmother. Time to soak in her care and wisdom. Time also to be trained in root working and to, hopefully, cajole a reverse spell to banish the musical auras that assaulted her mind.
At the altar, Annie grasped the large chunk of polished carnelian that, despite its vivid orange-red color, was cooling and soothing to the touch. With shaking hands, Annie struck a match. It hissed loudly in the quiet and emitted a whisper of sulfur. She applied the flame to the white columnar candle that smelled strongly of patchouli and cloves. Beside the candle was a framed print of a stern angel with spread wings.
Annie collected her panicked thoughts and prayed. “Dear God...universe...angels...help my grandma,” she whispered in a rush. “She’s done nothing but help people all her life, and now she needs you. The time isn’t right. I’m not ready.” Annie drew a deep breath, ashamed she’d wandered into selfish territory. A groan from the next room, and she drew the prayer to a quick close. “Please and amen.”
She hurried to the den, where Tombi leaned over the sofa toward Tia, as if drawing closer to hear her speak. Or check her breath for life.
A jab of fear wrung her gut. “Is she...?”
“She’s alive,”
