Read The Bone Artists for Free Online Page B

probably set it out a half hour ago, fixing it whenever she had the energy.
    “You live here on your own?” Oliver asked, trying to make conversation.
    “Yes and no. My niece comes by every once in a while. Checks in on me and the like. Makes sure I ain’t fallen over in a flower bed to lie with the petunias.” She laughed at that and so didMicah. Oliver joined in, coaxed by her infectious smile. Marie settled into an overstuffed chair, leaving the two boys to wedge themselves together onto an ancient loveseat that would have comfortably fit one moderately sized girl.
    Oliver cradled the little saucer with his cookies in hands that felt clumsy and gigantic.
    Micah didn’t seem to notice the tiny china or the weird smells, perfectly at ease as he caught up with all the neighborhood gossip. A neighborhood that extended for some miles, Oliver guessed.
    “Now I know this ain’t a social call. Nobody brings theyselves out this far just to eat cookies.” Marie narrowed her milky-brown eyes at Micah, tipping her head to the side. “You bein’ good these days? You best not be in trouble or I’ll get Sy down the street to hide you raw.”
    “That’s just what I came to ask you about, ma’am,” Micah said, dusting his powder-sugared fingers off on his jeans. “Me and Oliver here been doing a little work for some folks down t’New Orleans,” he explained, his accent thickening by the minute, as if by passing through the door they had entered another segment of the state altogether.
    “What kind of folks?” she drawled, studying them.
    Oliver couldn’t help but shrink away from her shrewd staring.
    But Micah kept his tone light, cheerful even. “Some knuckleheads calling themselves the Bone Artists. Frauds, probably. Just nonsense, but Oliver got nervous so I thought it a good idea to check. . . .”
    He rambled on, but Ms. Marie was obviously no longer listening, but was recoiling, pressing herself tightly against theback of the chair. “Your family raised you better than this, boy.”
    “So . . . they’re not good, then,” Oliver prompted. They weren’t, of course, he knew that, but judging by her reaction it was worse than he’d anticipated. What tipped you off, genius, the grave robbing or the creepy hideouts?
    Marie flicked her gaze between the two of them, shaking her head over and over again. He couldn’t tell if she was shivering or just swiveling her head back and forth, back and forth. . . . “Back when I was a girl you didn’t say those words. You didn’t speak that name. You speak that name you get all that’s evil in t’world coming to you.”
    “Whatever they do with these bones—” Micah began.
    She was swift to cut him off, lifting a hand as if she could stopper his lips herself. “I won’t repeat it. I won’t say it, I won’t. These folk—these are evil folk. The Bone Artists, they steal, and then they leave—body snatchers. Body thieves . They take your bones for black magics. Witchcraft . Satan’s friend, that prince of they’s is, He curse you and you’re never right in the spirit again.” Her voice rose and then fell to a sudden hush. She shook her head one last time, frowning, on the edge of tears as she looked at them as though they had both been taken far, far away.
    “You won’t never be right in the spirit again.”
    “She’s a little on the religious side, if you couldn’t tell,” Micah had said, dropping Oliver back at the shop that afternoon. He had leaned over toward the passenger seat and the rolled-down window, gesturing at where Oliver stood on the sidewalk. “I wouldn’t take everything she says seriously, all right? We’re not talking a pinch of salt, here, we’re talking the whole shaker. Imean, come on . . . Princes? Satan? I might believe in some dark stuff but let’s not go crazy.”
    “I’m sure you’re right,” Oliver said, conjuring a thin smile. “But all the same . . .”
    “No, you’re right. Let’s cut and run while we’re