All Hallows Eve: A Krewe of Hunters Novella (1001 Dark Nights) by Heather Graham Page A

are evil,” Gloria said. “As if the community should be hanging us again.”
    “Or trying to make it look like a feud,” John added. “I was killed, so someone from the other camp had to die, too.”
    “What do either of you know about the Gullah community?”
    “I know a number of folks who moved up here who are basically Gullah, but they don’t really follow any special practices. There’s one church in town that has a Southern twist, but it’s basically Baptist. Most of them attend there. They’re actually all great people,” Gloria said. “Where do they fit in here?”
    “I don’t think they come into it at all. I think that boo-hag is being used.”
    “Boo-hag?” John murmured.
    “Creepy, soul-sucking yucky demon,” Gloria explained. “Gullah. Red. Woodsy. Mortuary.”
     “Red mortuary?” Jenna asked quickly.
     “Maybe it’s because you said boo-hag,” Gloria said. “But I have an impression of red in my memory. For some reason, I seem to remember a whisper of the word mortuary.”
    Gloria paused and gazed across the graves to the mortuary on the hill.
    John joined her, then glanced at his wrist and shrugged with an unhappy sigh. “I always wore a watch. But it stopped when I died. Go figure. Loyal watch, I guess.”
     “It’s way past midnight,” Gloria said. “The lines are gone and people are leaving. They try to have it all closed up by 2:00 A.M.”
     Jenna looked over at the mortuary, too, which appeared both dead and eerily alive, as if on a plain between the living and the dead. Haunting, opaque, sheathed in garish Halloween décor, in the moonlight it appeared decayed and faded.
     Jenna was certain the answers she sought lay there.
    “I’m going up there,” she said. “Care to join me?”
     
    * * * *
     
    The back room at the bar/restaurant reminded Sam of an old brothel, especially the brocade cushions in gold and burgundy on the sofas and loveseats. Tandy served them an excellent herbal tea and talked about Gloria Day.
    “I have to admit some of the bad feelings were jealousy. Every time I looked at her, I thought I should start singing Memory . But I actually liked her. We both managed to get people to ball-hop on Halloween, after the Sabbat on the Gallows Hill, of course. There was plenty here for everyone. So I want you to know that I’m not leaving town. I have no intention of running.”
    “Tandy,” Sam said. “We need a list of people who wear, or have recently purchased a scent you make at your store. It’s something woodsy, smells like a forest, that kind of thing.”
    She found her phone and tapped a message. “I’m getting it for you.”
    He leaned forward. “And what do you know about the Gullah community?”
    “How did you even know we had a Gullah community?” Tandy asked, bemused. “They’re usually in coastal South Carolina or Georgia.”
    “We heard there was a group here,” Devin said.
    “We do have a group here now. Almost a hundred,” she said. “All good people. Some are more conventional; some have converted more or less to the Wiccan religion. They have their own language, a Creole similar to a Krio language spoken in what’s now Sierra Leone. Their religion is based on Christianity, but includes a great deal of believing in the spirits of their ancestors. I buy a lot of merchandise from them to sell at the store. Beautiful, hand-crafted masks and totems, and jewelry.”
     “What about the boo-hag?” Sam asked.
     Tandy smiled at that. “What about it?”
     “It seems to be a popular costume.”
    “Wait here,” Tandy said.
    She rose and disappeared from the room, returning a moment later with a young woman, clad in black, wearing a beautifully crafted pentagram.
    “Sissy, this is Special Agent Sam Hall, and Special Agents Lyle and Rockwood,” Tandy said. “Meet Sissy McCormick. She’s from Gullah country in South Carolina.”
    “Nice to meet you,” Sissy said, joining their grouping by taking the chair Tandy had