Black Magic Woman by Justin Gustainis Read Free Book Online Page A

shook his head. "She used to live with us," he said. "She died four months ago."
    "I'm sorry for your loss." Morris thought for a moment. "And the attacks started occurring when?"
    "About three months ago," LaRue said with a sigh. He ran a hand through his untidy hair. "I know where you're going with that," he said. "It's occurred to me, too, you know. I just haven't had the guts to say it out loud."
    "Say what, exactly?"
    LaRue made an impatient gesture. "That Greta's… ghost, spirit, whatever you want to call it, is responsible for all the shit that's been going on."
    "Is that what you think?"
    "Well, Christ, it's what you're thinking, isn't it?"
    Morris shrugged, and said nothing.
    "I mean," LaRue said, "if we're going on the assumption that all of this is being caused by some kind of spirit… and if you look at the timing, and all…"
    Morris kept twirling the little charm in his fingers, watching it go round and round. Without looking up, he asked, "Was your mother-in-law on good terms with the family?"
    "Yes. Yes, she was. I mean, I've heard all those jokes about mothers-in-law that people make on TV. But Greta was okay, you know? We all got along pretty well."
    "Including the children?"
    "Oh, yeah. She loved the kids. They loved her back, too. Her dying hit them both pretty hard—and then this other shit starts…"
    "I assume she had her own room?"
    "Sure, it's down the hall. Don't you want to do the rest of the tour first?"
    Morris slipped the little charm into his pocket. "No, I've seen all I need to here."
    * * * *
    "It's all pretty much the way she left it," LaRue said. "None of us has had the heart to start packing Greta's stuff up, and we don't really need the room for anything, anyway. Besides, after the… incidents started, we all got kind of preoccupied."
    "That's good to know," Morris said, looking around the spacious bedroom. There were knick-knacks and mementos all over the bureau, nightstand, and bookshelves, but nothing that drew his interest for more than a second or two. "Listen, I'm going to have to search the room. I'll handle her belongings carefully, and with respect, and I'll put everything back exactly as I found it. But it's something I've got to do. Will that upset you?"
    LaRue shrugged. "I suppose not. But what are you looking for?"
    "I'll let you know, if I find it."
    Eight minutes later, he did.
    Morris stood looking into the bottom drawer of the dresser, contemplating what he had uncovered after moving some blankets and an old flannel bathrobe: the old book with its white leather cover, the small silver bell, and the hand-made candles in several colors and shapes. There were several other items that he also recognized.
    Morris took from his jacket pocket the little charm that he had found earlier. As it twirled slowly in his fingers, he said to LaRue. "Well, it looks like I've got some good news and some bad news for you."
    LaRue nodded cautiously, waiting.
    "For one thing, I'm almost positive that your troubles here are not being caused by a poltergeist, or any other kind of resident spirit." LaRue nodded again. "And what's the bad news?" Morris looked at him for several seconds before saying quietly, "I'm sorry, Walter—that was the bad news."

Chapter 4
    Cecelia Mbwato sat sprawled in a chair in the cheap motel room, watching the sky through a dirty window and waiting impatiently for the coming of night.
    She was not one of those creatures the stupid Americans called "vampires." She was human, more or less, and could function in the daylight as well as anyone. But she had long felt a certain affinity with the dark, especially since becoming umthakhati at age fourteen, an occasion she always thought of as embracing the Great Darkness.
    Besides, certain deeds essential to her craft were best carried out under cover of night.
    The sun had reached the horizon now, and begun to disappear below it. There were enough clouds in the vicinity to reflect the dying light, filling the sky with a