He pulled out his phone and tried to remember the word David’s great-grandmother had screamed at him, to try a search. Just to take his mind off things. Bogor and Bocker pulled up nothing that fit. Trying Bokor, he froze at the first result:

BOKOR

In the Vodou religion, sorcerers who may practice both light and/or dark magic. Their black magic famously includes the making of ouanga (pronounced “wan-gha”), voodoo dolls, or talismans, which house spirits. Also, the creation of animated corpses.

He put the phone away and closed his eyes. When he opened them, a fresh mug of tea had appeared. He watched the old hand stir in four heaped spoonfuls of sugar.

“Get yourself around that. Sugar’ll help. Got some biscuits, too.” His grandfather put the plate on the table, then surreptitiously splashed something from a hipflask into his own mug and took a swig. “Feeling almost human again,” he said. Setting down the mug, he flexed his left hand and massaged it with the right. “Pins and needles.” He winced, then switched his gaze to Alex with new intensity. “And so. How about you, young man? How’ve you been feeling? Aside from tonight’s unpleasantness.”

“Fine. Just, you know. Getting on with school and stuff.”

“Mmm-hm. Anything else been keeping you busy?”

“No, just . . .”

“Hobbies or such?” The old man’s eyes never left Alex’s. “The old toy robot collection, for instance.” He started tapping a sharp, relentless rhythm on the table. “How’s that these days?” Tap-tap-tap-tap. “Anything in particular you might like to tell me about that?” Tap-tap-tap-tap.

“Uh . . .”

“Nothing?” Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. “You might like to share?”

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

“Just . . . Oh.” Alex screwed shut his eyes, then surrendered. “Okay, okay. All right.”

He took the toy from his pocket and stood it on the table, fighting the urge to snatch it back. The decision to give it up was almost physically painful. But there was also an undeniable sensation of relief.

“Uh-huh,” his grandfather muttered. “And there we are.”

“Just take it,” Alex said. “I don’t want it. It’s too much. Take it back, throw it in the river. Get rid of it.”

“Tell me, Alex.” The old man made no move to touch the toy. “What was in the box? That night, on the bridge, I saw you throw it. There was something in there.”

“Oh. My phone. My old phone. It was broken, anyway. Just take it.”

“Ah, what made you keep it, son?”

“I’m not even sure.” Alex tried to be honest. “I just wanted to . . . know more. Learn more. I guess part of me thought I could use it to protect myself. I used to get bullied a bit at school. I mean, you remember the guy you saw beating me up.”

“Ah . . . vaguely.”