Bayou Shadow Hunter. Debbie Herbert
Annie scolded. âYouâre going to be fine.â
âListen.â Tia struggled to rise on an elbow, but gave up and sank back into the cushions. âI know I been a disappointment to you this visit.â
Annie started to deny it, but Tia cut her off.
âWe ainât got time for nothinâ but the truth between us. And the truth is, you need to help Tombi. He needs you. He needs your gift.â
But what about me? Itâs not what I want.
Tia frowned, eyes sparking with reprimand.
No doubt sheâd heard the selfish, unspoken thought. Guilt and shame washed over Annie in a heated flood of remorse.
âYou listen here, Annie girl. You help that man. Now. Tonight.â
Annie shook her head again. âNo way. Iâm staying with you.â
âIâm goinâ somewhere you cainât follow.â
âYou arenât going to die,â Annie insisted.
âI mean it, missy. You go with Tombi. Promise me.â
Her tone was fierce, insistentâone that Annie remembered as a child. A you-better-mind-me-this-is-your-last-warning kind of voice. The sirenâs wail grew distinct and piercing.
Annie crossed two fingers behind her back. âOkay.â
Tia tugged Annieâs right hand around to the front of her body. âYou stop that childish nonsense, or Iâll haunt you all yer living days.â
âYes, maâam.â
âNow, then. They fixinâ to take me to that infernal hospital.â Tia sniffed as if sheâd smelled something unclean. She hated the hospital and always said they hurt more than helped. âGuess itâs for the best in this case.â
âTheyâll take good care of you. Youâll be better inââ
âHush. If you ever loved me, if you ever trusted my judgment...donât go to the hospital with me. Say you wonât.â
Annieâs shoulders slumped. âOkay,â she whispered in defeat, crushed at the mandate. âIs there at least some spell or working I can do while youâre gone?â
âNo. You be my good girl and help Tombi.â Tiaâs eyes filled with tears that poured down her cheeks like trickles of rain.
Annie couldnât ever remember her grandma crying, except that one time when Annieâs mama got in a huge argument with Tia and walked out, saying she would never come back to this backwater hell. That day, Tiaâs great shoulders had heaved in silent sobs.
Flashing red lights strobed through the window like a disco party from hell. Annie squeezed Tiaâs hand.
âYou always were my special girl.â Tia nodded. âBut now itâs time for my release. Tombi is your destiny now. Ya hear?â
The screen door burst open, and two men in dark blue uniforms entered with a stretcher, Tombi close at their heels.
The men hurried to Tiaâs side and took her pulse, listened to her heart, assessed for damages. Tombi explained what had happened, and Annie sank to her knees, hands covering her mouth. How could her grandma expect her to stay here while she went to the hospital?
Tia was transferred to the stretcher, and the men labored to the door with their heavy burden. She still clutched the carnelian in one hand, taking a piece of home with her to a foreign place bustling with antiseptic, modern doctors who prodded you with needles and probed your flesh and innards with an impersonal, impatient air.
It was about as far from hoodoo healing as you could get.
âWeâre taking her to Bayou La Siryna General Hospital,â one of the young men said.
She couldnât speak past the clogged boulder in her throat, but Tombi responded. âThank you. Family and friends will follow shortly.â He walked the EMR staff to the door and shut it behind them.
Annie curled into the sofa. The cushions were still warm from her grandmaâs fever and smelled like her special scent of cinnamon and sandalwood. She punched a throw pillow, aching with the need to follow her grandma.
But sheâd promised.
She gave in to her grief and sobbed into the battered pillow.
A warm hand touched her shoulder. âAnnie?â
She jumped. Sheâd completely forgotten Tombi was present.
âYou,â she spat.
A flinch danced across the hard planes of his face, so fleeting that she wondered if sheâd misread it. He withdrew his hand.
âIâm sorry about your grandmother.â He stood erect and awkward, as if unsure what to do or say.
Annie swiped her eyes and edged away from his presence. She tucked her feet beneath her on the sofa and hugged her knees to her chest. âWhy donât you go away and leave me alone?â
She didnât care if she looked or sounded childish. Grandma Tia was gone. And it was all his fault. If sheâd never met him, never made the mistake of following the will-oâ-the-wisps into the woods, her grandma would still be here.
Iâm going where you canât follow. Was Tia talking about her death? Or something else?
âIs there someone I can call?â Tombi asked. âFamily? A friend?â
Annie didnât want to call her mom. It would take her hours to drive down from the north Georgia mountains. That was, if she came. And sheâd be impatient and cross that Annie hadnât gone to the hospital. No matter that sheâd shirked her own daughterly duties. Best to wait a bit for some news on her grandmaâs condition before calling.
Annie nodded at the desk by the far wall. âOpen up that middle drawer. Thereâs a blue address book in it.â
She watched as Tombi rummaged in the drawer. His green T-shirt was streaked with red clay dirt, as were his blue jeans. It reminded her that heâd been lying on the ground deathly ill less than an hour ago. She shouldnât care but...
âHey, are you okay?â she asked reluctantly. âMaybe you should have gone to the ER, too.â
He shut the desk drawer and came toward her. One side of his mouth twitched upward. âNice to know you care.â
He handed over the battered book, which was crammed with names and addresses scribbled in Tiaâs large, dramatic script. Grandma wasnât one to trust computers for storing information.
Annie found Verbena Holleyâs name and picked up her cell phone. Verbena was a longtime family friend who would drop everything and stay with Tia at the hospital. She also wouldnât question Annie about Tiaâs demand that she remain at home. Verbena was almost as eccentric as Tia and possessed absolute faith in Tiaâs wisdom.
That done, Annie hung up and let out a deep breath. She felt a fraction better that her grandma would have a familiar face by her side this evening. Outside, shadows lengthened, and twilight wouldnât be far behind.
Tombi paced their small den looking large and out of place. He belonged to the night and to the swampland, not here in this mystical room with its herbal sachets, saint statues and candles. His stride was cramped, his posture rigid. He kept his eyes to the ground, hands tightly interlaced behind his back.
âYou donât have to stay,â Annie said. âYou should