Legacy of the Witch. Maggie Shayne

      “Goodbye, Amarrah, slave girl to the slave girls.”

      I met his eyes one last time and felt like a bolt of lightning shot from his to mine, jolting my heart into a stronger beat. One so startling that I woke up.

      I was alone in my bedroom. My gidaty’s photo, a picture of her in her younger and happier days, stood framed on my nightstand. I looked into her eyes, and she seemed to stare intently back at me.

      “All right, Tata. All right, I’ll do it.”

      Maybe I had lost my mind. Or maybe not. But I was going ahead with my plan, and nothing would stop me. I had promised my grandmother, after all.

      * * *

      Akron was a lot bigger than Cortland, but otherwise not so different. The U.S. had a very homogenized quality to it. One place wasn’t a lot different from the next, not like my homeland, where miles might as well have been light-years.

      I bought a city map from a gas station as soon as I was close, then stopped at a telephone booth to look up the number for the library. I needed to know who Glenda Montgomery’s fiancé was, and I figured my best bet was to go through the engagement announcements in the local newspapers. The library’s microfiche would have what I needed.