“We care,” Serenity says. “Do you remember?”

The watery eyes close, and the lined face tightens with grief. “Oh, Lord, yes. I wish I didn’t. But I’ll never forget.” She nuzzles the chin of a thin calico with her foot. “You want to know about my real baby, Sam.”

“We do,” I tell her.

“That’s Samuel over there,” Mrs. Booker says, pointing to a framed photo on a table near the wall. Serenity goes over and looks at the photo, then picks it up and brings it to me. It shows a young man of about twenty holding a .22 rifle in one hand and a mess of squirrels by their tails in the other. Sam was thinner than his father, but just as handsome, and his eyes are bright with intelligence.

“That boy started putting food on the table when he was twelve years old,” Mrs. Booker informs us. “Take a seat, baby,” she says to Serenity. “Over here where I can see you.”

Serenity nudges an orange tomcat off an old club chair and perches on the edge of it.

“Have you two had happy lives?” Mrs. Booker asks, her eyes filled with concern.

“I suppose so,” I tell her, looking around the room. “I feel pretty lucky.”

The old woman smiles. “Have you seen bad things?”

Serenity and I share a quick glance.

“You can’t go through life without seeing some bad things,” I say. “Can you?”

“No, no. But I mean evil things. Because there is real evil in this world.” She turns to Serenity. “What about you, darling? You look too young to have seen much wickedness.”

“I fought in a war, Mrs. Booker. And I covered the crime beat in a lot of urban housing projects. I’ve seen some of the worst things people can do to other people.”

The old lady nods soberly. “Then you’ve seen him.”

“Who?”

“Him. The serpent of old.”

We share another uncomfortable glance. “If there is a devil,” Serenity says, “I’ve seen him all right. In every country in the world.”

The Cat Lady nods. “He can move anywhere, child, anytime. But at least I know I won’t be putting something in your mind that it can’t handle.”

I say, “Why don’t you tell us what happened to your son, Mrs. Booker?”

“He was killed by demons. White demons.”

“Do you mean the Ku Klux Klan?”

“No. The Klan wore white robes back then. These demons wore black. Black or green.”

Serenity cuts her eyes at me. She’s wondering whether Mrs. Booker is in full possession of her faculties.

“And this happened at the place people call the Bone Tree?”

The old woman crosses herself. “That’s the place. A pagan altar, that’s what it is. Ask any of the old folks down around that swamp. They’ll tell you.”

“Will you tell us what happened?”