“You know it come to me that it ain’t right this blade only binds the spirits of slave-trading chiefs and kings. What about the white folk who bought them slaves? Who worked them to death. Ain’t they got penance to pay?” Aunt Ondine gives the foxiest of grins. “Why Maryse, that’s a whole other sword.” I almost choke on the mint julep. Another sword? A hundred questions form on my tongue.
