altar within.
A severed goat’s head dominated the center, its horns stained with blood, its red eyes glistening with an unnatural light. Black candles stood in candle holders made from human skulls; small bones were scattered in seeming patterns near a chalice that was ancient and well used.
A small rag doll protruded from the goat’s obscene lips, it’s little arms and legs flopped past the yellowed teeth and blackened tongue.
The doll had Cody’s face.
Maggie sat behind the wheel of her car, after leaving the Vannier house, tears streaming. What in God’s name were they doing to Cody in that house? Those terrified screams . . . the desperation in her sad eyes. . . .
The blaring horn of the eighteen-wheeler jarred her attention back to the road; she fought the steering wheel to avoid a head-on collision with a construction site. Thank God the trucker had blasted her with his horn! I-95 was no place to lose your concentration. Keep your wits about you, damnit!
Cody’s screams still resounded in her ears. What could she do to rescue the child from that hateful world? And what the hell was wrong with Jenna, that she didn’t see the disastrous changes that had been wrought, in only one month? What kind of creature had she given birth to, who could wrench a child from home and warmth and safety so abruptly, and plunge her into such a cold and heartless, place?
Maggie pulled gratefully into her garage. She barely nodded to the attendant with whom she usually shared pleasantries; she needed to get home to think this through.
Her house felt warm and welcoming, but Maggie merely shrugged off coat and shoes, and headed blindly for the living room. As she passed the liquor cabinet she almost stopped to pour herself a drink, an unheard-of move. She had no head for alcohol and seldom drank anything stronger than wine, but tonight she felt chilled to the bone, with an unnatural cold. As if all the warmth of the world had vanished and what was left was icy and alien.
She passed the liquor cabinet by and dialed the phone.
“Amanda? Maggie. I’ve been to see Cody.” Then the whole story tumbled out.
“Ghania doesn’t sound like any mammy I ever knew,’’ Amanda responded, disturbed. “She sounds hard as a piece of the nether millstone, as they say back home.” Maggie was smart and rational and not in the least given to hyperbole; the situation in Greenwich must be really bizarre to put her into such a state.
“There’s something about Madagascar darkies that niggling at me, though, darlin’,” she mused. “I believe Mammy Erline told me something years ago . . . I’ll have to think on it.” She paused, trying to remember. “Are you sure you shouldn’t go to the authorities about this?”
“I’m beginning to think I’ve got to talk to somebody who could find out about these people. I just don’t know who.”
“Just be careful darlin’, won’t you?” Amanda replied worriedly. “I keep thinking my daddy would say, ‘Never let anyone know you’re nosing around, until you know what kind of people you’re nosing.’ With the amount of money this Vannier has, there’s bound to be power somewhere in the bushes.”
Maggie collapsed into a hot bath, trying to get warm, and to soak the tension from her bones, but every vision that floated into her mind was of a desperate little girl, begging for help.
CHAPTER 7
C ody stood in front of Ghania, trying hard not to listen to what she was saying. It had been over a week since Mim’s visit; the days were long and the nights worse. Ghania was telling her bad stories about Mim, again.
“You think your grandmamma loves you?” the Amah sneered. “She doesn’t even come to see you, she is so glad you are gone.”
Cody felt tears puddling close to her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to keep them in. “Mim loves me,” she said resolutely, but it was getting hard to know what was
A severed goat’s head dominated the center, its horns stained with blood, its red eyes glistening with an unnatural light. Black candles stood in candle holders made from human skulls; small bones were scattered in seeming patterns near a chalice that was ancient and well used.
A small rag doll protruded from the goat’s obscene lips, it’s little arms and legs flopped past the yellowed teeth and blackened tongue.
The doll had Cody’s face.
Maggie sat behind the wheel of her car, after leaving the Vannier house, tears streaming. What in God’s name were they doing to Cody in that house? Those terrified screams . . . the desperation in her sad eyes. . . .
The blaring horn of the eighteen-wheeler jarred her attention back to the road; she fought the steering wheel to avoid a head-on collision with a construction site. Thank God the trucker had blasted her with his horn! I-95 was no place to lose your concentration. Keep your wits about you, damnit!
Cody’s screams still resounded in her ears. What could she do to rescue the child from that hateful world? And what the hell was wrong with Jenna, that she didn’t see the disastrous changes that had been wrought, in only one month? What kind of creature had she given birth to, who could wrench a child from home and warmth and safety so abruptly, and plunge her into such a cold and heartless, place?
Maggie pulled gratefully into her garage. She barely nodded to the attendant with whom she usually shared pleasantries; she needed to get home to think this through.
Her house felt warm and welcoming, but Maggie merely shrugged off coat and shoes, and headed blindly for the living room. As she passed the liquor cabinet she almost stopped to pour herself a drink, an unheard-of move. She had no head for alcohol and seldom drank anything stronger than wine, but tonight she felt chilled to the bone, with an unnatural cold. As if all the warmth of the world had vanished and what was left was icy and alien.
She passed the liquor cabinet by and dialed the phone.
“Amanda? Maggie. I’ve been to see Cody.” Then the whole story tumbled out.
“Ghania doesn’t sound like any mammy I ever knew,’’ Amanda responded, disturbed. “She sounds hard as a piece of the nether millstone, as they say back home.” Maggie was smart and rational and not in the least given to hyperbole; the situation in Greenwich must be really bizarre to put her into such a state.
“There’s something about Madagascar darkies that niggling at me, though, darlin’,” she mused. “I believe Mammy Erline told me something years ago . . . I’ll have to think on it.” She paused, trying to remember. “Are you sure you shouldn’t go to the authorities about this?”
“I’m beginning to think I’ve got to talk to somebody who could find out about these people. I just don’t know who.”
“Just be careful darlin’, won’t you?” Amanda replied worriedly. “I keep thinking my daddy would say, ‘Never let anyone know you’re nosing around, until you know what kind of people you’re nosing.’ With the amount of money this Vannier has, there’s bound to be power somewhere in the bushes.”
Maggie collapsed into a hot bath, trying to get warm, and to soak the tension from her bones, but every vision that floated into her mind was of a desperate little girl, begging for help.
CHAPTER 7
C ody stood in front of Ghania, trying hard not to listen to what she was saying. It had been over a week since Mim’s visit; the days were long and the nights worse. Ghania was telling her bad stories about Mim, again.
“You think your grandmamma loves you?” the Amah sneered. “She doesn’t even come to see you, she is so glad you are gone.”
Cody felt tears puddling close to her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to keep them in. “Mim loves me,” she said resolutely, but it was getting hard to know what was
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