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One by one, Two by two, The Hardesty witches Are traveling through. With a storm of curses, They call from their tomes; They will drink your blood And dine on your bones. —CHILDREN’S JUMP ROPE RHYME, OVERHEARD IN 1934 IN RHEA SPRINGS, TENNESSEE
He gave her a look. “I am going to ignore—just for a minute—how much my geek side is loving that apparently there is a goblin king in the world. And that he is—again apparently—here in the Tri-Cities. Even knowing that David Bowie is gone, I am giddy about this.” He said all that in a very dry, professional tone.
Yep. Mary Jo was competent. Too bad for her, because this was not how to get off my emergency call list.
But I’ve learned that there are always terrible things, and sometimes it is very important to grasp what joy and beauty you can, whenever you can.
“Miniature zombie goats,” I corrected. “Or miniature goat zombies. The ‘miniature’ is important. ‘Zombie goats’ just sound satanic.”
“Wolf,” I asked, “who are you?” “Witchbane,” he said. “Witch’s Spawn.” He grimaced, or maybe he smiled. “Something like that, maybe. I forget. Who are you?” “Nothing that grand,” I said. He bared his teeth. “Coyote’s Daughter,” he said. “We shall sing them to the great death.”
“That which doesn’t destroy us . . .” “Leaves us scratching our heads and saying, ‘What’s next?’”
“Creates miniature zombie goats,” I corrected him. He nodded at me. “‘Zombie goat’ sounds satanic.” There are reasons that Stefan and I became friends.
Sometimes there is no way to make things better. There is only making it through. I couldn’t make Adam not hurt; I could only let him know he wasn’t alone.
“Politicians have to lie,” Adam said. “It’s written into their black souls. It’s only a problem when they begin to believe their own lies.”
“I’m asleep, Mercy. It’s a guy thing. We like to sleep after sex.”
My old pastor liked to say that church is a hospital for the sick, not a mausoleum for the saints.
See? Life is about problem-solving. Although I was pretty sure that most people’s problems weren’t things like what to do with dead witches and two-hundred-plus zombies.
“Mutter Erde, deren Schmied ich bin,”
‘Mother Earth, whose smith I am,’”
Öffne Dich, schütt’le Dich, atme und schließe Dich . . . Erde, hör’! Erbarme Dich, Ein tiefes Grab eröffne sich, um Fleisch, Gebein verforme Dich . . . und tiefer Friede finde sich . . . “Open, shake, breathe, and close,” said Sherwood. “Earth, hear me, have mercy. A deep grave shall open, around flesh and bones deform yourself—or re-form yourself. Find a deeper peace.”
Eile Dich, leg’ sie zur Ruh und decke sie im Schlafe zu . . . “Put them to rest swiftly, and cover them in their sleep,”
