Cyriah reached into a pocket of her dress and motioned me to come closer. I knelt at the edge of her chair so that we were face-to-face.

“Lean here toward me,” she said.

I inclined my head, and as I did so, she reached up and placed a necklace around my neck. The cord against my skin was soft and comforting, and a small pendant of some sort hung from the necklace. I put my hand on the pendant and realized that it was a cloth pouch. Inside the pouch I could feel several items. One of them, when I rolled it between my fingers, felt like a small coin—a penny, or perhaps a dime. Of the other items inside the small bag, I could not be sure.

Cyriah put her hands on each side of my face and, pulling me closer, kissed me softly; first on the forehead and then once on each eye. At each kiss I felt a warm tremor pulse through my body, and I felt lighter, yet somehow, stronger. She then sat back in her chair but continued to hold me by the right hand.

“That necklace you wear will protect you. I made it with my own hands from things I been saving just for a time of special danger. It has great powers, but you must wear it at all times, and you must never let no one else touch it.”

I put the fingers of my left hand on the pouch and then felt the cord. It was made of braided hair. Again, Cyriah read my mind.

“Horsehair,” she said. “For strength, speed, and a powerful heart. That little bag hanging from it holds the tricks that fools the evil ones—so they can’t get a grip on you, nor penetrate your soul.”

I nodded. A trick bag. In the protective arsenal of a hoodoo root doctor, it is the most powerful amulet of them all.

“Miss Cyriah, I don’t know what to . . .” I began, but she quickly interrupted me.

“That girl was killed, never you doubt it. She was killed and flung out like trash. But you and that little friend of yours was meant to find her body. You was meant to bring her home, but you was also meant to bring destruction to the evil that took her life. They is others out there, too, Kennesaw, other peoples that is in danger and needs your help. Go help them, son. Go help them, before it is too late.”

Cyriah gave my hand a firm squeeze and shook it with a surprisingly strong grip as she said those last words. When she released my hand, I sat back and, looking deeply into her eyes, suddenly found that the world was very quiet. Nothing moved. My body seemed heavy, and the room became very dark. What was happening? Has the lamp burned dim?