The Freedman and the Pharaoh's Staff Read Free

of cool air rushed through town, a howling ghost. At least the rain stopped.  
    â€œI’m thankful for them kind words, Constable.” Jeb turned to face him and found his hand extended. He cracked a smile; in the six years since the war ended, his white “friend” had offered him a handshake twice. Once for saving the little white girl, and the second time for killing an alligator that’d wandered into town from the bayous. Jeb took Rayford’s hand and shook it. It was an honor to shake a white man’s hand, the Constable’s too, but Jeb hated that it was a privilege.  
    â€œWhat time them fools planning this hanging?” Jeb doubted his friend would say—he’d make up some story.
    Before Jeb heard the door close, Rayford whispered, “Eight o’clock, sunset.”
    Perhaps he misheard him. A lynching at sunset didn’t seem right. The ones he’d seen, numbering in the dozens, had been early enough so the children could watch before bedtime.
    When the Goblins in the jailhouse were asleep, that’d be the reasonable time to strike. Jeb stood in the street, thinking for a few minutes. He couldn’t take anyone else with him. This was his responsibility. Besides, no one else would dare break into the jailhouse full of Klansmen to free Crispus.  Hell, Jeb didn’t want to. But, something nagged him. A part of him needed to know what Crispus did to raise this kind of Hell.
    First, he had to alert Keturah, tell her and Bettina to hide. Then, he’d have to find somewhere in town for Crispus to hide. Who would take in a runaway troublemaker? Goddamn! I had a good thing here and now this fool ruining it. In a single night, Allenville lost its veneer of quiet life.  
    While Jeb was away in the army, he was lost without his family, and death hunted him every day. Was Crispus worth risking his family? Jeb could go home and tell Keturah there was nothing to be done. But why was the Klan after some old map?
    Why’d it bring a Grand Dragon here—one of the last? If Verdiss is the last Grand Dragon, that means Nathan Bedford Forrest is be close by . Forrest founded the Ku Klux Klan, calling himself the “Grand Wizard.” Another thug using some stupid name to inspire terror in his enemies. Down in Louisiana, the word ‘magic’ sent shivers through white folks. Either way, Louisiana was the Klan’s final resting place. They flocked down here like migrating birds, following their near oblivion at the Union’s hands. I hope this’ll be their graveyard.  
    Jeb couldn’t hide Crispus anywhere that’d put his wife and child in danger. So who could he trust? Lafayette Blakely—the houngan ! Jeb turned on his heels and ran through the wet street, cloaked by night. It must have been midnight when he stopped, puffing clouds of air from his lungs. His age dragged the energy out of him like he’d climbed the Appalachians. He bent over, trying to catch his breath for a few minutes. Jeb looked to make sure he was at the right house. He was. Strange symbols drawn in chalk covered the brick building. Besides the markings, what made the house different from any other home in Allenville was its circular shape.  
    Lafayette was the son of a mambo . She’d been chased out of town decades ago, so the rumors said. The whites heard about the voodoo priestess through bedtime stories to warn children from entering the swamps. She cursed the whites of decades ago for her exile, but stayed loyal to black folks. Any who came to see her earned a blessing for their troubles. Instead of traveling to Port Allen’s “black designated” hospital, those who knew her would travel to the swamps to seek her out.  
    Travelling to the swamp would be too dangerous this late at night. Lafayette’s home would do well enough. Most white folks in Allenville didn’t dare approach his home. Intricate runes carved into the