Thems etrangers, there, they won’t take you ‘way.” Gran’me’ handed him a handful of teeny tiny black seeds, some of them trying to fall from his fingers. She wrapped her gnarled hands around his and hissed. “Non! No droppin’ ‘em, ‘tit. Not in the house. No inviting the boogies.” Lord. Gran and her hoodoo. “Oui. Oui. I ain’t gon’ drop ‘em.” Eloi shoved the seeds in the pockets of his good jeans, next to his lighter and the gris-gris bag his sister’d brought this morning. His hair was slick with the huile de chance Mamma’d brought over at first light. You’d think he was dyin’ or something, ‘stead of going to the courthouse. Still, all the magic might could help, huh? Leastways a little? It weren’t everyday a La Bauve got called before the judge, and Lord knew his type didn’t fair so well locked away. “Don’ you worry on it none. Me, I got the hoodoo. Ain’t gon’ be none of mine own in the jailhouse.” “No. I ain’t done nothing bad.”
What do You think about Black Mustard: Justice (2011)?
