Hoodoo

by Ronald L. Smith

  O Hand of Glory, shed thy light.

  Take us to our spoils tonight.

  Flash out thy blaze, O skeleton hand,

  And guide the feet of our trusty band.

  Their faces were twisted and their mouths hung open, like they wanted to scream but nothing would come out. I saw Bunny’s mama and daddy shuffling along. And there was the Green family too, their kids with no shoes on their feet. I saw J.D. Barnes and Otis Ross, their eyes wide open. There were the McGuires and the Wellingtons and other Hatcher family from across the river. They were all cursed.

  “Give up, Hoodoo,” Preacher Wellington said. “Give my master that hand. He’s gonna call up the dead to stand against God’s army.”

  That scared me more than anything. To see Preacher Wellington—a man of God—under the demon’s spell just wasn’t right.

  I turned to see Aunt Jelly and Pa Manuel half running in my direction. They were both out of breath. Aunt Jelly was still in her robe. She didn’t even have time to put on a dress. But they weren’t going to stop me. I had to do this on my own. It was me Zacharias Cain wanted. I’d come this far, and I wasn’t gonna let someone else finish it.

  “Hoodoo!” Aunt Jelly cried.

  “Stay back!” I shouted, raising my left hand.

  Aunt Jelly and Pa Manuel stopped in their tracks. Pa Manuel looked at me like he was gonna say something, but then I saw him blow out a breath and tighten his lips.

  Zacharias Cain began to chant, coming closer on his big black horse.

  I am the darkness in the night . . .

  Clip, clop, clip, clop.

  I am the shadow before the sun . . .

  Clip, clop, clip, clop.

  I am the snake that walks with two legs . . .

  Clip, clop, clip, clop.

  My bones shook in my pants. The heat from my hand was rising all the way up my arm. I clenched it into a fist and whispered,

  Saint Michael the Archangel, defend me in battle.

  Be my defense against the wickedness and snares of the devil.

  May God rebuke him, I humbly pray, and do thou,

  O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God,

  thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits,

  who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.

  Amen.

  I let out a breath. “Zacharias Cain!” I shouted. “Go away! Get out of here, you old demon!”

  And then I waited. But for what, I didn’t know. A bolt of lightning to strike him down? A hole to open up in the ground and swallow him? But neither of those things happened. The Stranger just chuckled, deep and low. “Gimme that hand, boy.”

  Aunt Jelly opened her mouth to scream but I didn’t hear it. Time slowed down. I felt like I was standing in molasses, sinking down into the earth. Zacharias Cain was closer now—so close I felt the heat from his body drifting toward me. “You can’t stop the night,” he said. “Darkness is coming.”

  The wind rose up. I covered my nose with my hand as the smell of a dead skunk filled my nostrils. It was Zacharias Cain, stinking up the street to high heaven. “No!” I shouted. “Stay back!”

  “What you gonna do, boy?” he said. “I will take that hand and then I will EAT YOUR HEART!”

  I heard a bell, and it rang three times, soft and far away, like the bell I heard when I was soul traveling, talking to Daddy.

  You gotta use your head, son, and your heart.

  Mrs. Snuff said something like that too, and I heard her voice loud and clear:

  Where’d you get that mark, boy? . . . Gotta have heart. Gotta have heart.

  I heard a sound inside my head, like a heart beating in time with my real heart. I let out a deep breath, then raised my left hand and touched my birthmark. Heat spread through my fingertips. I brought my hand down and looked at it.

  I gasped.

  My left hand glowed, like it had been dipped in moonlight. I stared but didn’t have time to wonder how or why. I just had to use it somehow.

  My breath was coming fast. Blood rushed in my temples. My left hand was heavy now, like I was carrying around a hammer.

  I thought back to everything that had brought me here: the mojo bag, the Saint Michael prayer, the powwow book, the Sator Square.

  The Sator Square.

  Cipher and speak the Sator Square. The evil that draws nigh is vanquished.

  Vanquish means to defeat somebody, if you didn’t know.

  If those words had the power to show me the Stranger’s true name, maybe they could do more.

  Zacharias Cain drew closer. “You owe me a debt,” he said. “And I come to collect.”

  I raised my glowing hand. “Sator!” I shouted.

  Zacharias Cain twitched, then cocked his head sideways.

  “Arepo!” I said. “Tenet!”

  Something was happening. Zacharias Cain shook his head, like he wanted to speak but couldn’t.

  “Opera!”

  The glow from my hand lit up the darkness. The townsfolk shrunk back, fear on their faces.

  “Zacharias Cain!” I called out, and the voice that came out of me was strong and deep. “Down in the valley you dwell. Five hundred steps. Go back to where you came from!”

  His eyes flashed for a second—red and orange flames flickering in the shadows. His devil horse reared on its hind legs and threw him off, then bolted down the street, its hooves pounding the dirt road.

  But in the blink of an eye, Zacharias Cain stood up and unfolded his legs like some kind of nasty insect, then ran at me, sickle in hand. He was on me in a second, his sharp knees pinning me to the ground. The townsfolk around me stood still and chanted.

  O Hand of Glory, shed thy light.

  Take us to our spoils tonight.

  “I will kill you, boy,” he said, sparks flying out of his mouth. “Just like that old woman!” His face was inches from mine. The stench of the grave rolled over me, and I held my breath. He was too heavy. He grabbed my left wrist and held it to the ground, then raised his sickle. A cold blue light swirled around the blade. I shook my head back and forth, trying everything I could to loosen my arm, but his bony knees dug into my ribs, holding me in place.

  I turned my head to see Bunny struggling like she wanted to speak. Her eyes bulged and her mouth opened up, but all that came out was nonsense words. I thought of everything in the world that had ever made me angry: J.D. Barnes and Otis Ross. Daddy, for trying to send his body into mine. Mama Frances sleeping in the cold, hard ground.

  And just like that, my left hand shot out and grabbed Zacharias Cain around his neck.

  I scrambled out from under him and stood up, holding his neck the whole while. I lifted him straight up off the ground, just like I did to J.D. Barnes, but now my hand was glowing like Saint Michael’s holy sword. He kicked at the empty air, struggling and grunting

  “Zacharias Cain!” I cried, looking him straight in the eye. “This is for my Mama Frances!”

  “Rotas!” I shouted.

  Big old balls of flame went up into Zacharias Cain’s eyes and mouth. I drew my head back from the heat exploding from his face. I released my grip. The demon fell to the ground and raised his arms to the sky. Streaks of fire ran up his cloak. “I call on you, Great Master!” he cried. “Save your servant!”

  And then the flames took him.

  All was still.

  Slowly, my breath came back to me. I looked at my left hand. The white light was gone. Bunny ran up and threw her arms around me. The townspeople shook their heads and turned in circles, dazed and confused, talking all in a rush. I looked into Bunny’s eyes and held her. The smell of dandelions and sugar cane rose in my nostrils. “You did it, Hoodoo!” she cried. “You killed that old devil man!”

  But I wasn’t done yet. I had to make sure Zacharias Cain was really dead. I untangled myself and walked the few steps to his burned-up body. But as I stood over him, he dissolved into a pool of black worms, wriggling down into the earth.

  Heart
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br />   The dark clouds overhead parted and the sun came out again. I heard birds whistling. Dirt streaked my pants and shirt. Bunny’s mama scooped her up and headed down the street, back toward their house. I hoped they didn’t think I was some kind of monster for what I’d just done.

  I actually did it. I killed that old demon.

  “Hoodoo!”

  Aunt Jelly came running down the street, pulling her robe around her. She knelt and squeezed me in a big hug, then looked me up and down, touching my face, turning me around, and running her hands over my back like she was making sure I wasn’t hurt. Pa Manuel was there, and Cousin Zeke, who looked fit to faint. I heard a rustling in the trees and looked up. It was that old black crow, hopping from branch to branch, making a racket.

  And somebody else was there, too. A stooped and bent old lady, leaning on a knobby cane. She hobbled over and stood by Aunt Jelly.

  “Miss Carter?” Aunt Jelly said.

  I shook my head. Miss Carter? What was Aunt Jelly talking about? Her name was Mrs. Snuff.

  “I got all kinds of names, boy,” she said, answering my question before I even had a chance to ask it out loud. “Mrs. Snuff. Miss Carter. Addy. There’s power in names. But I guess you know that now, don’t you?”

  “Yes ma’am,” I said.

  “You owe me two dollars and twenty-five cents for those things you took from my store,” she said. “But I figure I can give you some credit.”

  She winked at me with her cloudy eye.

  Aunt Jelly looked at us like we were both crazy. She reached out and held my face in her hands. “Fool child!” she said. “Let’s get you home.”

  And then she tried to hug me again, and I went ahead and let her do it.

  Try as he might to look all serious, Pa Manuel was proud of me, I could tell. He twirled his little cigar between his fingers, and the smoke swirled around his head. We were sitting at the dining room table, and Aunt Jelly made me a sweet drink of sugar water.

  “How come you and Aunt Jelly didn’t fall under the spell?” I asked him.

  He took a sip of his drink and set the glass down on the table. “None of those families were hoodoo folk. That’s why he was able to put that spell on them. He couldn’t get in this house to take nothing.”

  Pa Manuel was right. Bunny’s family didn’t do folk magick, and neither did any of the other families that were under the Stranger’s spell. I thought back to that night when I dreamed about the Stranger and how Mama Frances had put a broom across my doorway. And the altar must’ve helped.

  We got the power of the Lord in this house. And other things too. It seemed like a long time ago now.

  I swallowed and took a deep breath. “I went in the old Wise Men’s club,” I said. “I found something in there. Something that helped me get the Stranger’s true name.”

  Aunt Jelly gave me a sharp look. “You know you shouldn’t have gone in there, Hoodoo. No telling what kind of trouble you could’ve gotten into.”

  “Couldn’t be more trouble than he already had,” Pa Manuel said.

  I had to smile at that a little, but I kept it inside.

  “That lodge holds all kinds of secrets,” Pa Manuel said. “Old books and spells, powerful magick from ages long gone.”

  “What happened to them?” I asked. “The Wise Men? Daddy was one of them. He was the boss, right?”

  “Your daddy was the power behind that lodge,” Pa Manuel said. “The youngest man ever to become the grand archon. Once he died, I’m afraid they fell into a shambles, son.”

  Pa Manuel stood up. He bent down and offered his hand. I reached out and shook it. It felt strange to shake my granddaddy’s hand. He used to hug me when I was little, but I guessed I wasn’t so little anymore. “What you did was brave, boy,” he said. “Stupid, but brave.” He straightened back up. “It takes a special kind of strength to stand up to evil like that. Way I see it, maybe one day you can start up that lodge again.”

  “Me?” I said.

  “I reckon so.”

  I smiled at that, and so did Aunt Jelly.

  Me, a Knight of the Wise Men. Figure that.

  I sat with Bunny under a long-beard tree in the backyard. The moss hung so low it almost touched my head. Aunt Jelly had fried up a whole mess of catfish, and the soft, flaky meat melted in my mouth.

  “I’m proud of you, Hoodoo,” Bunny said. “I would’ve helped you if I could’ve. But I couldn’t. I was . . . stuck.”

  I didn’t ask her what it was like being under Zacharias Cain’s spell—I just looked into her eyes and squeezed her hand. And then I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. I wasn’t even shy about it. And even though we’d both been eating fish and were hot from the sun, it was the sweetest kiss in the world.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “You always believed in me. That’s gotta count for something. Right?”

  “Right,” she said, and popped another piece of catfish in her mouth.

  Aunt Jelly came out and filled our cups with sweet tea. She kept grinning at us like she had her own private joke.

  I leaned back against the tree and crossed my hands behind my head. I thought about what I’d just gone through, and my daddy, too. He must be at peace now, I thought, and could enter the kingdom of heaven, like he said. And even though I was mad at him for what he did, in the end, it made me stronger. He told me I had to have heart, and I’d had it all the time.

  Having heart is being brave, even when everything looks as dark as night.

  Having heart is being strong, even when Zacharias Cain comes knocking.

  Having heart is believing in yourself, if you didn’t know.

  I would like to thank my parents, Henry and Rose Smith, for providing a childhood in which daydreams were easy and carefree, and not stifled by the concerns of the big, bad world. I found solace in books at an early age, and my parents always encouraged what would become a lifelong passion.

  My brothers, Louis, Steven, and Calvin, always stalwart supporters, no matter what my endeavors. You guys are the best brothers one could wish for.

  To my agent, Adriann Ranta, thanks for taking a chance on Hoodoo and believing in the book. You didn’t have to ask for that initial revision, but I’m so thankful you did. Your support has been invaluable. (And thanks for having a patient ear in dealing with the neuroses of a debut author.)

  To my editor, Lynne Polvino, at Clarion Books, thanks for your critical eye and deft touch. You’ve helped me become a better writer. Also, I now know that the word “eye” cannot be used fifty-thousand times in a novel. (Even though I just used it twice.)

  Thanks also to the marketing, publicity, and design teams at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. You make me feel like An Important Author.

  To Sebastian Skrobol, Cover Artist Extraordinaire, thanks for the brilliant cover.

  I’d also like to give a special thanks to Michele Thornton and Amy Alexander Millay. One could not ask for more dedicated critique partners. This book would not have been possible without your insightful comments and suggestions. I hope to be reading your acknowledgment pages soon.

  To my family and friends here and abroad, thanks for your unwavering support.

  Lastly, to Julia, thanks for taking the journey with me. Du bist die Liebe meines Lebens.

  RONALD L. SMITH fell in love with books at a very young age and hasn’t stopped reading since. Hoodoo is his debut novel, and he lives in Baltimore, Maryland. To learn more, please visit his website: www.strangeblackflowers.com.