Bayou Shadow Hunter. Debbie Herbert

       Chapter 2

      Why had she kissed him?

      True, he’d saved her from spending the night in the swamp, but he’d been evasive. Even accused her of being a witch.

      But she’d been irresistibly pulled to his masculine strength, in a way she’d never experienced before. Kissing strangers was a novelty. Best to place the blame on the Thunder Moon and forget it ever happened. With a deep sigh, Annie shook off the question. It was done. Over. She might never see Tombi again. And she certainly would never go back into the night woods chasing will-o’-the-wisps.

      Filled with resolve, she returned to preparing a new batch of mojo bags designed for attracting the opposite sex. Grandma Tia had awoken this morning declaring they would be in demand today, and supplies were getting low. Annie crushed lovage leaves with a mortar and pestle, releasing its unique lime and celery fragrance.

      The cramped kitchen could almost be mistaken for one set in medieval times. Dried herbs from their garden hung from the ceiling. The countertops were wooden, as were the floors, table and cabinets. On the pine table, Annie had spread out over a dozen pink flannel mojo bags and mason jars filled with dried flowers and spices.

      She emptied the freshly ground lovage into a new jar, humming contentedly. Next, she took a pinch of powdered substance from each jar and placed it in the bags, along with a sprinkle of salt and a tiny magnet. The base ingredients were set. Her grandma would personalize each bag as needed.

      The murmur of conversation from the living room grew louder. Grandma Tia’s voice was low and calm, in contrast to the other woman’s high-pitched agitation.

      â€œThat hussy knew Jeb was my man, and it didn’t make no bit a difference to her.”

      Every syllable of the woman’s words buzzed like angry bees in Annie’s ears. She hummed louder to block the buzzing and opened the pantry, which was lined with shelves of different-colored mojo bags, stones, nails, oils, graveyard dirt and hunks of dirt-dauber nests. A few murky jars were filled with liquid the color of swamp water, and she shuddered to think of what unsavory ingredients her grandma used in other kinds of spells.

      Tia Henrietta popped her head in the door. “I need that there—”

      Annie plucked two items from the shelf and held them out. “Here’s twine and a vial of Stay Me oil. You need to add these to one of the pink bags for a Taking-Back-Yer-Man spell. Right?”

      â€œYou a quick learner, child.” Grandma Tia gave a broad wink before closing the door behind her.

      Annie shook her head in bemusement. It wasn’t too hard to learn the hoodoo basics. Grandma Tia had explained there were certain common spells: one for getting back a lover (mostly female customers), another for gambling luck (mostly men) and another for revenge or blocking enemies (popular with both sexes). That was in addition to using the all-purpose good-luck charms and cleansing waters she concocted.

      The front door slammed shut, and Annie watched the wronged woman march to her sedan, tightly clenching the mojo bag in her right fist. The hapless Jeb didn’t stand a chance against her determination to cure him of his wandering ways. What a relief Grandma hadn’t insisted she join them for the consultation. Lately, Grandma Tia had been making her meet customers, saying she needed to come out of her shell. But she’d given her a break today and let her putter about the kitchen, allowing her to get her bearings after last night.

      The teakettle whistled, and Annie poured steaming water into two mugs and carried them on a tray into the living room.

      Her grandma was sprawled on the sofa, head in her hands.

      â€œWhat’s wrong?” Annie hurried forward and set the mugs on the coffee table.

      Tia brought her hands down and smiled wanly. “Nothing. I’ll be just fine after tea.”

      â€œIt’s your heart, isn’t it?” Annie asked, helping her sit up and placing a pillow behind her back.

      â€œCain’t expect it to last forever.” Grandma Tia mixed a dollop of honey into the hawthorn-berry tea. “This will revive me right nice.”

      But one day it wouldn’t. Annie nervously adjusted the pillow.

      As if reading her mind, Tia spoke again. “Don’t you worry ’bout me. I’m ready to meet my maker anytime He calls.”

      What would she do without her grandma? Her real home was here in Bayou La Siryna, always had been. Here she wasn’t surrounded by people and their constant cacophony of sound and music. Unwanted sounds she’d never learned to mute or tune out. And if Grandma Tia died, there went all hope of learning to control it.

      Annie sat on the couch, legs crossed, and sipped coffee. None of that slimy grass-tasting herbal tea for her. Her right leg jittered in rhythm with the tumbled whirling of her brain.

      â€œAin’t hard to guess what yer thinkin’.”

      Annie cursed the guilty flush that heated her face. No use denying her one-track wish. “I can’t believe there’s nothing you can do to help me. There must be something.”

      â€œWhy would you be wantin’ to block a gift?” Tia clicked her tongue in disapproval. “One day you gonna be thanking the blessed saints for that hearing of yers.”

      â€œIt’s ruining my life. Why can’t you see that?” Annie set down her drink and stood, pacing the floorboards. This time guilt did more than stain her cheeks; it burned her heart. Grandma Tia probably wasn’t long for this world, and Annie was impatient and snippy with the one person in the world who best understood and accepted her peculiarity.

      â€œI’m going outside to cool off,” she announced, using her last bit of self-control not to slam the door on the way out.

      Cool off? What a joke. The humidity slapped her as soon as she stepped onto the porch. Annie sat down and stared at the gigantic live oaks draped with moss. Beautiful in a gothic, eerie kind of way. Burning cement cooked her butt, and she shifted her seating position.

      Maybe it had been a mistake to come again this year after all. Still, she couldn’t bear the thought of her grandma living alone. And Mama had wanted no part of traveling down here, saying she’d rather go to hell than come back to Alabama.

      So she sent me instead. Dear mom had jumped at the chance to get her weird daughter out of the house and out of her hair.

      It certainly was hot as Hades down here. And the gazillion buzzing, stinging insects in the bayou were the devil’s own reward. Annie swiped at a mosquito sucking her forearm.

      A whisper of song blew from the treetops and teased her ears. The plaintive, haunting