“They were certain of it. He’d demonstrated his powers with smaller miracles. Other spells—spells that made you stronger, faster, smarter. Spells that could make you invisible, or give you the power to see other people’s dreams. He claimed he could astrally project, and walk through solid objects.”

“So, what you’re saying is that he was a charlatan.”

“Don’t assume that so fast. In his mother’s country there’s a long tradition of sorkos who have demonstrable supernatural abilities. Anthropologists took a shine to them in the early 1970s, and there were several studies published on the subject of African tribal occultism. Fascinating, really.”

“Hang on—what did you call them? Sorkos? I know that word. Where was she from, John Gray’s mother? Was she from Niger?”

“I think so. Yes, I think that’s right. Is that where your cousins were from?”

“Yeah.” I turned the next page. It featured another photo of Gray, this time with a woman.

“That’s Juanita, his wife.”

“It says she went mad when he died.”

Brian shook his head. “She didn’t go mad. She knew good and well what she was doing when she cut off his hand.”

I jumped as if the gentle fellow had punched me. “His . . . his hand? Why would she do that? Why would she . . .” I was stammering, but I couldn’t make my tongue straighten out and work right. “Why would she cut off his . . . his hand? That doesn’t make any sense, it just doesn’t.”

“Calm down, child—I swear by the goddess—calm yourself down. There’s no need for it, now. Whatever’s gotten you? Yes, she cut off his hand, but she waited until he was dead, if that’s what’s worried you.”

I braced my elbows on the table and took two or three measured breaths, avoiding his eyes until I’d shrouded my own. “It’s just the way you said it.” I spoke carefully, trying too hard to sound light. “I thought you meant it was while he was alive. Yeah, that creeped me out.” I shuddered, and the shudder was real enough to satisfy Brian, but I could tell he felt I’d overreacted.

“He was dead. No doubt for it. Juanita wanted a relic to work magic with. She took his left hand off clean at the wrist, she did. It was easier than taking just his ring finger.”

“His . . . why would she want his ring finger?”

“Magic. According to his hodgepodge theology, the fourth finger of the dominant hand is the power finger. It’s the only finger in African cult lore that has no name. So long as she had that piece of him, there was the possibility she could raise him again. Fortunately—at least for the members of the holy order that hanged her husband—she came down with smallpox and died before she could wreak too much havoc.”