Black Magic Woman

I don’t put stock in psychics. I knew a few gypsies who would look through crystal balls, but they told me that half of what they said during a session was utter bullshit; the other half was what the patron wanted to hear. The old gypsy taught me to play a bit of violin in exchange for telling the stupid girls at the University of Tampa “my whole life’s course had been changed because of the Matron Mother’s readings for me.” Yeah, I was kind of a scam artist. And I sucked at violin.

While I think supernatural hullabaloo are a load of cock and bull, I’m wary of witches and the voodoo-practicing folk. My paternal grandmother is… I guess you could call her a swamp witch. She knows a little too much about the dark arts, and I’m certain Satan would answer her prayers before God did; this might be why she only prays to… something sinister.

Her garden is a damned death field. Devil’s ivy, foxglove, angel’s trumpet, oleander, chinaberry… I feel uncomfortable when she offers me tea because she could slip any of that in my drink and I’ll be pretty fucking miserable, if not dead. Besides her doom-and-gloom botanical garden, she also has a Ouija board that appears around her house at random times and locations, all set up and ready for everyone to play, and a satchel filled with human knuckle bones, runes burned into them. She casts these bones onto a mat made of human skin taken from a former lover. I reckon the knuckle bones are from him too… That’s not the only bit of human skin she has lying around. She has several books bound in human hides. She’s never let me open them; she said I’d go blind.

And as fucked up as all of Gramma’s shit sounds, she told me to never get mixed up with the voodoo people because “they’re worse.” I think they cast bones too; I make that assumption because I crossed paths with a voodoo lady by the name of Madame Bones in Ybor City. She was kooky and her shop smelled like old cabbage and burned hair. She scared me when she started to croak about my grandmothers (the swamp witch and the monk). “Shadows and the Sight. What lovely gifts the mothers of your parents pass to you. Let me cast for you.”

I got the hell out of dodge. As I said before, I don’t put a lot of stock in the spiritual, hocus pocus stuff, but I also don’t tempt the gods.

All that being said, I visited a psychic anyway with my brother and friend anyway. I didn’t like her, bad vibes.

And she offered me a job.

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