Wings of Ebony

by J. Elle

  “Rue?” Tasha pokes me, but my eyes are fixed on the empty restroom and the man who’s been waiting outside of it as long as I’ve been here. I don’t like this. Maybe I’m being paranoid?

  “I was just asking what they look like, if they all wear the same thing or.…” Her words trail off as old dude’s eyes find mine again. His jacket shifts and metal glints from his belt.

  “Get up,” I say.

  Tasha looks confused, but she stands. “What are…”

  I shush her. “Act calm and just follow me. We’re fine.”

  I think.

  I move toward the opposite end of the shop and pull Tasha in front of me, gently pushing her toward the door. I don’t know who he is or why he keeps staring, but he’s carrying a gun and that’s enough for me to get out of here. I take one more long look at him. He’s white, I think. His dark hair is long but tidy, hanging just past his collar. Bet no one would guess Mister Buttoned-Up Shirt Tucked in His Slacks is packing heat.

  His head is swiveling back around my way when I slip through the door.

  “What happened?” Tasha looks over her shoulder as I push her to keep it moving.

  “Nothing. I don’t know. Just got a bad feeling in there.” My breath picks up with our pace. I’m probably being paranoid. Texas is an open carry state. “Some dude in khakis was looking at us one too many times.”

  “Khakis and a button-up?” she asks. “Dark jacket?” She must have seen him too.

  “Yeah, I—”

  “Uhh, him?” She throws a glance over her shoulder and my heart stops.

  The coffee shop door gives a faint chime as it closes behind us and there he is, taking a stroll in our direction.

  “Faster.” I pull her by the elbow and cross the street, walk-running. It’s just a coincidence. It’s just a coincidence. I don’t know if that’s the truth or if I’m praying it is.

  He crosses the street too.

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  What does this dude want with us? His complexion says he ain’t Ghizoni. At least I don’t think he is, but he is a ways away.

  We turn another corner.

  A few minutes later, he does too.

  “Aunt Melba’s old house is ’round here. We need to get off these streets.” I cut a left, picking up my pace, and Tasha keeps up. He rounds the corner behind us and I pick up even more speed. I can hardly get a word out from being out of breath.

  “Aunt Melba dead, Rue.”

  “I know, but Neesha ’nem ain’t done nothing with the house.” A good amount of distance is between us and him now, but still my knees shake. He is definitely following us. Too many twists and turns for this to be happenstance.

  We gotta lose him before getting close to Aunt Melba’s.

  “This way.” I turn down an alley, heart hammering in my chest. The sun disappears. Brick towers on either side of us and the backs of shops stretch ahead as far as I can see. Pairs of dumpsters every couple of buildings send a smell of rotten raw meat to my nose. As much as I hate wedging there, hiding between those two dumpsters is probably our best bet.

  “Down here.” I crouch low, pulling Tasha to join me. She crouches beside me and I shove her behind me a bit.

  A door claps shut and Tasha yelps.

  I wrap a hand over her mouth. “Quiet,” I whisper.

  Footsteps patter in our direction. A dumpster creaks open and a soft voice mutters something, then grunts, and the metal box clangs in response. Just someone throwing away trash, thank goodness.

  Done, the stranger turns to go back inside I guess, because the sound of footsteps grows faint. But a deep voice cuts in.

  “You see some girls come this way?”

  It’s him.

  “N-no, I-I s-sure didn’t. I-I was just taking out my trash. I own that there salon.”

  I pull Tasha in to me, her eyes wide as saucers.

  “You don’t sound real sure,” he says.

  “I-I—” Her voice cracks.

  “You, you, what?” His steps grow louder. Closer.

  I have to do something.

  “I-I don’t want no trouble now with you folks. Can you just put the gun down?”

  Gun?!

  “Let me go inside,” she asks. “I ain’t seen nothing. I ain’t gon’ see nothing. Just p-please let me get back inside.”

  Tasha’s whole body is trembling against me.

  Think, Rue. “Stay here. Don’t say a word.”

  The lines worrying Tasha’s face beg me not to move. But it’s not even really a choice. I can’t let this lady get hurt.

  I step out and the old woman’s legit surprised. I mouth, “It’s going to be okay,” and she looks from the gun to me and back to the gun.

  The shock on the gunman’s face turns to a smile quick, and the barrel of his 9mm points my way. Cars whip by on the street at the end of the alleyway. I have half a mind to scream for someone to help, but moving cars don’t have ears. Pedestrians barely do.

  “Hands up.”

  I put my hands up, studying this guy’s face. Moms always said to study the face of someone who attacks you. Walking home from school, she was always worrying we’d get messed with.

  “Let it burn into your memory,” she’d said.

  Gunman’s brows are bushy, eyes blue. His skin is pale, but scorched, like he tans too much. He’s definitely not Ghizoni. He has a mole near his left ear and the head of a snake tattoo peeking at me from the collar of his shirt. An eerie feeling settles on my shoulders.

  I’ve seen that mark before… somewhere.

  He spots me staring and tugs at his collar, raising his gun arm higher. “Eyes to the ground. Where’s the other one? The girl.”

  “She ran off. I stopped to hide.”

  Cold metal chills my forehead as the gun barrel presses into me. The old lady whimpers, but I don’t flinch.

  “It would be stupid to lie to me.” He tryin’ to scare me. It’s not like I haven’t seen heat before. Felt it against my skin. Like I ain’t watch bullets fly through the air like arrows stealing mommas from their kids. Robbing sons of their dreams.

  I’ve seen worse than the likes of him.

  I lift my sleeves. “She gone.”

  If he doesn’t back down, I’ma have to use magic.…

  But it’ll set off Patrol.…

  His fingers move to the trigger.

  I have no choice. I have to. “Feey’l,” I mutter, reaching for the familiar burning sensation in my wrists. For a second my wrists flicker with warmth.

  Then my arms go cold all over.

  Wait, what?

  Again, I dig for that tingle of magic fused to my wrists, to lay this dude flat on his back.

  Nothing.

  My magic? It’s not answering.

  Again, dammit!

  The orbs on my wrists don’t even warm this time.

  Oh my god, we’re gonna die. I bite down, bracing for his wrath.

  He tilts the gun sideways. “You…”

  Police sirens woop and my heart stutters.

  The walls around us flicker from red to blue and back to red. I don’t know whether to be relieved or scared. Sirens woop again and someone shouts, “FREEZE!”

  Gunman’s blue eyes burn into mine for a split second longer, full of a fire I don’t understand. He takes off, knocking over the old salon lady as he sprints down the alleyway. A cop takes off past us, chasing him down. I brace for the sound of bullets, but they don’t come.

  I guess they don’t shoot first ask questions later for everyone.

  His partner walks up, her dark pixie cut rustled by a gust of wind. The badge on her chest is hard to read in the shade. I squint. Resendiz.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  I nod, my whole body shivering. My magic isn’t working, but I can’t tell this lady that.

  “Was anyone hurt?” she asks.

  “No.”

  Her eyes pinch together. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Y-yeah. Just sh
aken up.” I call for Tasha and she joins my side. I hope she didn’t see me saying that spell. I can’t tell her I’m broken. Magic is my entire plan. The weight on my chest is heavy, so heavy, each breath is a fight. How do I save us without magic? How do I protect us from Ghizon or just any ole creep trying to do us harm?

  I don’t know.

  FUCK.

  We explain everything from the coffee shop to him following us into the alley. We tell her about the way he almost hurt the salon owner lady. I give the best damn physical description possible. Officer Resendiz writes it all down and asks me if I’m okay ten more times at least.

  “These last several weeks the crime—especially in East Row…”

  That’s where I grew up. That’s home.

  “… has been bad. Multiple shootings, robberies, every other week.” She looks between us. “And don’t get me started on cartel arrests. You two should get home. It’ll be dark soon. Can I give you a ride?”

  She’s nice and all, for a cop, but that’s a bit too far. “Nah, we’re good.”

  “Okay.” She tucks away her tablet and smiles. “I mean it, off these streets, right now. It’s not safe out here—worse than I’ve ever seen it.”

  “Yeah, okay. My aunt lives just up the road.” A half lie. Aunt Melba’s been dead, but her house is ’round the corner. I’m anxious to get there. I need some time to think. Who was that guy? And what’s wrong with my magic?

  I gotta figure this shit out before we both end up dead.

  CHAPTER 10

  LAST TIME I SAW Moms, she was slipping on a white lab coat. She’d said something about a new job down at the Medical Center. Some kind of way this job was supposed to make it so that she could eventually drop her weekend hustle. Tasha had a fever that night.

  Moms didn’t want to leave, but she also wanted us to eat.

  If she’d stayed home, maybe she’d still be alive.

  One Year Ago

  “Now, don’t you answer the door for nobody even if you know ’em,” she’d said, slipping her arm into the second sleeve. “That door stays closed. Any trouble out there, you just mind ya’ business.”

  “Not even the cops?”

  “Damn sho’ not the cops.” She pulls me into a hug. “You crazy? Can’t nobody know y’all up in here all night without me. That’d get us in so much trouble, get y’all taken away. You need anything, Ms. Leola’s phone number on the fridge.”

  The door clicks shut.

  I hate doing overnights without Moms, but it’s so normal these days. I set out Tasha’s medicine. She needs another dose in an hour, then a different one a couple of hours after that. Alternating the medicine, careful to give her the exact amount, no mistakes.

  I set my phone alarm to wake me up every few hours through the night. My study notes for my test tomorrow glare at me from the table. Studying ain’t happening. Not tonight. Maybe in the morning. I keep moving down the hallway.

  Tasha’s curled up on Moms’s bed under a yellow blanket. The ratty collar of her favorite T-shirt peeks from under her chin. It’s one of Moms’s old ones; used to be orange, now it’s peach. It’s worn out, but Tasha loves it. And any time she’s sick she has to wear it until she’s well again.

  I chuckle, sliding in bed beside her. The sheets are chilly and gooseprickles dance on my skin. I shimmy closer to her warmth. She’s so hot, but it’s almost cozy.

  Before Tasha came along, when I was sick like this, I would lie here wishing Moms could be here, clutching the phone, scared to death of being home alone. I slip an arm around Tasha’s head and stroke a few soaked strands of hair. Moms always preaching about how building a future requires sacrifice and sacrifice ain’t never easy.

  Shit, sacrifice hurts.

  Sacrifice kills.

  But it’s what you do with the pain, Moms would say.

  Tasha nestles in to me and I hug around her tighter. “Momma should be off work for good on the weekends soon,” I whisper in her ear. She groans. “Maybe we can go to the mall, walk around or something. All three of us.”

  Her eyes roll in their sockets, but she doesn’t speak. Is the medicine even working? The damp towel across her forehead is ’bout hot as her head. Probably should change it. I step into the hallway and turn toward the bathroom.

  That’s when it happens.

  “R-rooty!” The front door bursts open and Moms’s voice is strained, higher pitched than it should be.

  “Momma?” I step into the hallway and catch a glimpse of her coming inside. It’s dark, but I can make out her earrings and necklace, the same ones she always wears, and her eyes—wide. So wide—nearly double in size. A chill ripples through me like ice fills my bones.

  “Y-you forget something, Ma?” Moms isn’t forgetful.

  That’s when I hear it.

  Pop.

  My knees pound the floor, crawling back to the room.

  I know that sound. Everyone ’round here knows that sound.

  Pop.

  “T, wake up!” I pull her awake and snatch her to the floor, hands glued around her mouth. Oof. She’s so heavy and out of it. I pull hard, tugging, dragging with every bit of my strength.

  Pop. Pop.

  The shots are fainter, clouded by muffled voices. My hands are shaking, but I can’t feel them. I can’t feel anything.

  Wedged in Moms’s closet around piles of junk, I fold my knees against my thudding chest, straining to shut the closet door. A hook and padlock hangs on the inside of the door frame. Never noticed that before. My clumsy hands work it closed and click it to lock.

  Tasha’s burning against my chest, and I squeeze her. I tell her everything will be okay. I tell her Moms will be fine. I tell her not to worry, I’ll keep her safe.

  I tell her every lie I wish was true.

  Next time we saw Moms, she was in a body bag. I’m not letting my sister go through pain like that again. At least one of us should have a childhood… a real one.

  Two more city blocks and Aunt Melba’s street sign comes into view. I bolt toward it, pulling Tasha along. Auntie’s been dead five years at least, but no matter, spare key was always under the aloe vera plant ’round back.

  “You sure about this?” she asks.

  I’m not sure about anything at this point. Why my magic doesn’t work, who that guy was, if the Chancellor has found out who I touched, where we’re gonna sleep. My head’s going to explode. “We need off these streets so I can think.” I walk faster, more like a light jog. Tasha keeps pace as a rusted green carport comes into view. Sun-drenched siding covers most of the house, the parts that aren’t patched in graffiti’d wood. Chipped yellow trim frames the windows and door. No one’s visited here in a minute. Knew it’d be abandoned, boarded up still. Empty houses where I’m from just sit ignored for years, generations, forgotten by the city—just like the people who live here.

  I cut a sharp glance around. “Come on, while the coast is clear.”

  Tasha moves ahead of me and we cut across Auntie’s overgrown lawn. I pry open the side gate and it creaks in greeting. Tasha slips through first, then me. She’s so tall. Damn near my height and thin lines already dent her young face.

  “Keep an eye out,” I say. “I’ma get the key.”

  She shoves her hands in her pockets, teetering on her feet.

  The porcelain planter is still in the spot I remember, dusty and sun scorched.

  “You get it?” she yells, voice riddled with cracks.

  I shove the weighty pot aside and a brass key glimmers from underneath. “Yeah, we good. Come around back.”

  We follow the jagged concrete walk that wraps around the back of the house, making sure I step around the cracks littered with dead grass. Habit. A pair of metal chairs and a sun-scorched card table are piled against the back door, half-ripped cardboard boxes on top.

  “Help me clear this.”

  “I don’t feel good about holing up in Aunt Melba’s old house. Can’t we just go somewhere else? To my grandma’s? My pop’
s cool, I swear.”

  “T, please with the questions. It’s just for a minute. You heard the cop, we need off these streets. I need a second t-to…” Figure out what the hell is wrong with my magic. “… to plan. We got the Chancellor after you and now whoever these dudes you are mixed up with here.”

  “I ain’t mixed—” Her volume is ’bout three octaves too high.

  “Tash, we are not talking about this out here. I… I… Just help me push this table.”

  “You what? Tell me.” She folds her arms. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong!” I really shouldn’t yell. She’s just worried. I still my shaky hands and try for a calm, level tone. “I’m sorry. Can you just grab that end? I need a minute to regroup, figure out what’s next.” I hoist up my end of the table and she helps.

  We could go to her people’s house, but the questions. Oh, the questions. Where am I supposed to say I’ve been the past year? Everybody knows Moms got shot up and I just vanished. And even if I could come up with a convincing enough lie, I can’t have every nigga out there just know I’m back, hugging and touching on me, asking me why I keep my sleeves pulled down and never take my hoodie off.

  I need a spot without questions, a space to breathe, to figure out what’s wrong with my onyx, and decide where the hell we’re gonna go. I chew my lip. I probably need to check in with Bri, too.

  The sun burns my hands as we move the last bits of trash, making more noise than I intend to. Moments later, I’m slipping the key in the door. Please don’t let nobody be up in here. The brass slips smoothly in the hole and I blow a quick breath and push the door open.

  Shadows retreat as sunlight rushes in. Hazy air, heavy with dust, makes me squint and cough. Something reminiscent of cat piss fills my nostrils. Ugh. My stomach hovers in the back of my throat as we step deeper inside.

  Aunt Melba’s old flowered couch rests beneath the boarded-up windows in what used to be her living room. I move closer and a furry head pops out of a pile of blankets.

  “Meow.”

  I jump back. I don’t do cats. It apparently feels the same way, because bells jingle as it darts off.