The Magnolia League - By Katie Crouch Page 0,54

a real person,” she says. “That is the name of a folk hero. A hoodoo myth.”

“Hoodoo! Right! What?”

The librarian sighs. “Just a moment.” She disappears into the stacks and then returns with a book. “Here. You could have gone to the library, or E. Shaver’s, for that matter, if you were wise enough to support your independent bookstore. But you may borrow this.”

“Do I need a card?”

“I know where to find you, Miss Lee. Over there, in the ostentatious mansion on the corner. Or at one of your grandmother’s elitist Magnolia League gatherings. I’d make you join the historical society, but the League practically owns us. So.”

Hmm. Obviously this lady is not a huge Mag League fan.

“Okay. Thanks,” I say, smiling meekly. I take the book and hurry to the far end of the park. Taking a quick look around to make sure no one is near my bench, I open the book.

Hoodoo Spells and Conjures, the title page reads. I flip the page and begin to read:

“Hoodoo” is a spiritual and healing practice derived from African folklore. Direct cultural links have been found to several West African countries, including Angola, Congo, and Gambia. Like “Gullah” language and culture, hoodoo is not derived from a single source but is the result of the African diaspora. Mostly, the hoodoo practice can be found in the American South.

Hoodoo should not be confused with voodoo. Voodoo is a religion; hoodoo is the practice of magic—although many who practice hoodoo have altars in their homes. Hoodoo practitioners often practice a religion such as Christianity in conjunction with magic.

The hoodoo tradition places emphasis on magic and personal power. The practice includes rituals, the use of roots and herbs, spells, and chanting. The hoodoo practitioner is often called a “root doctor.” A “root,” or “mojo,” is a powerful charm that, when worn, is said to affect one’s fate. A “root” may also be an evil spell—or a hex.

The goal of hoodoo is to allow people access to supernatural forces to improve their daily lives by gaining power in many areas of life, including money, beauty, love, revenge, health, employment, and communing with the dead. Teachings and rituals are handed down from one practitioner to another.

Although most adherents are black, contrary to popular opinion, hoodoo has always been practiced by both whites and blacks in America. Most practice hoodoo in secret out of fear of persecution, so there is no data on how many people in America study hoodoo or how effective the rituals might be.

Okay, well. A lot of that sounds like my dream last night. So I had a hoodoo dream? All right. Not the weirdest thing in the world, I guess. Maybe the Buzzards practice hoodoo…. That would make sense, given that altar thing in the shed, and the huge root garden. Maybe my subconscious picked that up or something.

I close the book and stand. Well, this visit was educational, at least. Outside, the city has cooled off this afternoon to a nice, balmy temperature. It feels great, actually. So great that I break into a sprint, running along the park’s avenue of oaks.

“Hi!” I yell, bursting in the door of my grandmother’s house.

“Alex,” she says, appearing with—what else—a cocktail. “We must get your phone working. It’s only polite to let someone know whether or not you’ll be home for lunch.”

“Sorry.”

“Well. I suppose that’s all right, then. Josie left you a bacon burger in the warmer.”

“Great!” I go to the kitchen and eat half a burger while standing up at the counter. Then I throw my plate in the sink and head upstairs to hop in the tub. It takes ten minutes of a bath in my mom’s Spiritual Cleansing bath salts and several stanzas of “Sugar Magnolia”—my favorite Grateful Dead tune—for me to realize the truly weird aspect of what’s going on right now.

I haven’t thought about Reggie since I woke up.

Not once.

And now that I am thinking about him, I don’t feel a thing.

“What?” I whisper, stepping out of the bathtub and wrapping myself in a towel. I’m over Reggie, the first guy I ever loved, after one day? What is happening to me?

I find my cell phone under the bed. There are a couple of annoyed messages from Miss Lee, just testing it out to see whether I ever answer. And there are three messages from Reggie:

Pudge, that wasn’t cool, what you said in front of Crystal… but call me.

Pudge—I mean, Alex… Come on. Call me back. Crystal broke up with