Wings of Ebony

by J. Elle

  “You okay?”

  “I’m okay.” I would touch his hand, reassure him, but touching is out of the question. Dezignz, written in swirly silver letters against a slate charcoal wall, sits outside my window.

  “Well, we’re here. Figured I’d just drive us around this area, scope out things. If we…”

  Oh, he clearly doesn’t understand how this is going down. “I appreciate you. I really do. But I gotta do this on my own.” I click the door handle open. “Thanks for the ride. I can catch the bus back.”

  “Rue!” He’s all shock and stutters as he unbuckles. “I’m not leaving you here!”

  “Fine, stay in the car. If you hear anything, call the police and get out of here. Period.”

  “If I hear anything, I’m coming inside. Period.” He folds his arms. He isn’t going to back down, so I don’t even try.

  “What’s your plan?”

  “Sneak in, snag some intel, and get out. Making sure no one I love gets killed.” I step out and the entrance to Dezignz tattoo shop—Litto territory—hangs above me.

  Julius shouts at my back. “I hope that plan includes you!”

  Me too.

  * * *

  I slip past the entrance and down the side alley of Dezignz. Two side doors and a lot of shiny cars hide back here. I check the first door with a gentle pull. Locked. The second door opens.

  I listen through the crack. Nothing. Pulling it open wider, cool air brushes against my face. The dark room is a storage closet, by the looks of it. Rows of racks line the walls. In the center, pallet wood crates are stacked with packages covered with plastic wrap. Drugs.

  Still no sound or sight of anyone as I slip inside. The strip of outside light shrinks and disappears. The storage closet is bigger than I thought, and dark. More like a small warehouse. A ceiling towers overhead and the hum of an air conditioner muffles my steps. A beacon of red flickering overhead reads EXIT. There’s another exit sign in the corner to my far right. And another door without an exit sign on my far left. That one must lead to the inside of the shop.

  I get closer, pressing against the wood door. Its knob is warm. Someone was just here. I listen.

  Arguing voices.

  Something’s wrong.

  Footsteps. Lots of footsteps.

  There’s several of them.

  A door closes and the muffled shouts continue, escalating, when something metal bangs into the wall. In the hallway I catch a glimpse of the front entrance waiting area. Black walls dotted with glow-in-the-dark everything make it look like the middle of the night. Cameras peek at me from either corner behind the desk and I jump backward.

  Shit. I pull my hood tighter over my head.

  I slip past the entry to the shop and move closer to the door where the voices are coming from. The closer I get, the harder my heart thumps. Men’s voices shout back and forth so loud I expect the door to rattle. I press my ear to it.

  If they open this door, I’m dead.

  “What you mean he didn’t show?”

  “The hell you think I mean? Blow didn’t show his face.”

  Blow? Is that someone’s name?

  “So when D says do a thing, Blow thinks that shit’s optional?”

  “I guess so. You know how niggas act when they get a little cash flow.”

  Ah, so Blow is like an errand boy? But who is D?

  “I told you ’bout trusting these boys. Keep yo shit tight. You the boss, D.”

  Boss? Shit.

  D is Litto.

  I-I didn’t expect Litto himself to be here.

  “How we moving to the West Side and you got Blow getting sloppy with shit over here? That ain’t gon’ work.”

  The guy at the coffee shop? Could that be Blow? Or the guy at the bus stop? I need to get a look at faces.

  “Litto?”

  Silence.

  An eerily familiar voice splits the air and my blood runs cold. “Where’s Blow now?”

  Sweat soaks the back of my neck. I know that voice.

  “He ain’t answering.”

  Silence.

  Metal clicks. The sound of the gun takes me back to Moms’s closet. Breathe.

  “Get his people here,” Litto says, his voice so familiar I have chills. “Then he’ll come.”

  His people? Like his family. That voice. Where do I know that voice from?

  “What else?” asks Litto. “How are the numbers?”

  “Aside from Blow’s bullshit, it’s looking good. Got the Laws where we need ’em. The new commissioner owes me a favor.”

  “And the schools?” Litto asks.

  “We got hands and feet in most. Working on some of the others. That prep school is hard as shit to get into. Kids there act like they too good to fuck with strangers.”

  Hands and feet? Drug pushing?

  “I’m not as concerned about the prep school. It’s the ones along East Row that you need to focus on.”

  “Oh, we got those on lock. Pushing at least a key through the Jameson High every month.”

  Whoa. Drugs ain’t new around here, but targeting a high school?

  My high school?

  What.

  The.

  Fuck!

  “Good, very good,” Litto says.

  “One kid, though. He ain’t cooperating. Brought him in today to level with his ass.”

  “Explain.” A chair swivels then squeaks like someone’s stood up.

  “I give ’em the choice, like I always do—make money or spend it. This little nigga don’t want neither.”

  “Sounds like he’s made his choice,” Litto says. “You know what to do. Get it handled, now.”

  Handled? As in? I gasp, stumbling away from the door, and throw myself into a hall closet.

  They’re going to kill a kid because he doesn’t want to sell drugs or do them? What the fuck? Out of your league. Julius’s warning plays on repeat in my head.

  The door to their meeting room opens and through the crack of the closet door I can see a sliver of their faces as they exit the room. I crane for a better glimpse of the men talking. The first one out is pale-faced with a long ponytail and a Glock in his hand. I’d know his face anywhere—the man from the coffee shop.

  I can’t move.

  Behind him two more dudes come out the room, both with loose-fitting shirts and big-ass snake tattoos on their necks. I don’t recognize one, but the other is definitely Chad, the community center guy who “picked up” Tasha from her bus stop.

  I’d lay their asses out right now if I could.

  “Litto, you want to talk to this kid?” The last guy turns back to the meeting room, a gun the size of his arm clutched in his grip.

  “I’ll take a look, but you just handle it. I should be getting back.” Litto steps out and I can see him—like, fully see him.

  Thin lips, grayish pale skin, and a scar below his right eye.

  My blood turns to ice.

  Litto is the General—General Deo from Ghizon.

  CHAPTER 18

  MY SHAKY FINGERS FIND my wristwatch. The pitch-black closet glows blue. I can hardly type, my mind and heart racing each other.

  Me: Bri!!!!! I need my onyx to work!!!! NOW!

  Ghizoni don’t come here. Period, at all. It’s forbidden.

  Footsteps pass the closet and I suck in a breath. Don’t move. Don’t even breathe. The General and his crew exit the hallway and I ease out of the closet, on their heels.

  They’re going to kill somebody. Some kid!

  My watch vibrates.

  Bri: Are you okay??? I’m still trying!!

  Me: It’s the General.

  How does he get away with this? His disgusting condescending smile haunts me. Chancellor’s orders, he’d said. Could Aasim know?

  Bri: What?? What’s the general?

  Me: General Deo is HERE with the guys with the snake tattoo! I saw him! I need my magic Bri, now!!

  I slip around the corner and they are heading back toward the warehouse I came
out of. He’s here. They said the kid is here. I can’t just leave him. Shit! I look around for anything—a gun, knife, something.

  Nothing.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  The warehouse door closes and my foot nudges a pipe. Not my first choice, but it’s something. The rusted metal scratches my palm as I tighten my grip.

  Bri: GENERAL DEO?! RUE, GET OUT OF THERE NOW!!

  She doesn’t understand.

  This is a ride or die moment. I can’t.

  I push open the warehouse door and slip inside. This time the lights are on and shouts bounce off the walls. I duck behind a tower of pallet wood crates for a better view. There’s three of them and a boy who looks about my age sitting tied to a chair. His mouth’s gagged and blood drips from his brow down onto his mahogany skin. I recognize him from Homecoming Court. It’s Brian, quarterback at Jameson High.

  My heart ticks faster and I thumb the cold onyx fused to my wrist. Come on, Bri.

  I turn the metal in my clammy hands. Maybe if I can clock one from behind, then I can snatch his gun and drag me and Brian out of here. Maybe.

  Bri: RUE???

  Me: I can’t leave. Activate my stones.

  Bri: TRYING!!!

  “Answer me, Brian!” The commotion grows louder and I swallow a gasp. It is Brian. I didn’t know him really well, but he was popular, from East Row. That makes him fam.

  “Say something,” the taller of two pops him upside the head with the butt of the gun. The General watches, unmoved.

  Brian lifts his head and blood glazes his busted lip. “I… I told you. I don’t fool with that stuff.”

  The General gets close to him. “And what would you have us do?” His voice is eerily soft. “You’ve seen our faces, know our spot, you even know how we run our routes.”

  “I didn’t ask for none of that, man.”

  “You acted cool,” the guy from the coffee shop chimes in. “Like you were looking for work. So Litto”—he gestures at the General—“being the generous man he is, had us show you the ropes.”

  This isn’t right. Brian was set to be valedictorian, and sickly talented on the football field. He didn’t screw with drugs. His auntie woulda whooped his ass up and down Homecoming in front of everyone. Literally.

  “Nahhh, not like that,” Brian says through swollen lips. “I was just trying to get a job. I like the ink y’all do. That’s it! P-please l-let m-me g-go. I ain’t no snitch, I swear I won’t say nothing.”

  “What do you think we think when we see a nigger come in here?” Deo asks.

  I dig my nails into the lead in my hand, rage bubbling beneath my skin. I’m going to bash his face in.

  “You’ve seen everything. What would you have us do with you, Brian?”

  No. No, no, no!

  Brian’s eyes grow wide. He knows. He knows they’re going to kill him.

  My magic. Everything in me digs for that familiar warmth, clinging to the hope that maybe it’ll work. I chew my bottom lip and concentrate. There’s a warmth inside me, an energy I can’t grasp. I strain harder.

  I reach. It shifts.

  I grasp. It wiggles away.

  My magic is there. But it’s not.

  “Get up,” the man shoves Brian. “Go out like a man.” They unloose his ties and one dude grabs the metal chair Brian was sitting in. The General sighs, picking dirt from his nails.

  This is a game to them. I’m going to be sick.

  My watch vibrates and I creep closer. How do I make a way? If I step out there, they’ll kill me. Then Tasha? And what about the rest of East Row?

  Brian holds up his fists, unsteady on his feet as the guys circle. The shorter guy swings the metal chair and Brian tries to dodge. But he’s woozy. It slams across his head with a rattling clang and blood spews from his mouth, splattering the ground.

  No! My hands are soaked with tears. Brian. His name is Brian. I say it over and over again, letting his face burn in my mind.

  I sneak a few steps closer, still not close enough to swing and hit.

  Another blow flies. Brian buckles over, hands slapping the concrete. The General’s shoulders rise and fall in a sigh as the men kick him.

  I hate him. I’m going to pluck his eyes out of his skull.

  Brian hunches over tucking his head, boots slamming into his ribs.

  “Brian,” I whisper, clawing at my scalp.

  “You think you one of them smart boys? Too good or some shit?” The coffee shop dude points the gun at him.

  “Nah. I-I just I don’t wanna sell that shit. It’s not for me!” Brian weeps, hugging his knees, and they mutter something I can’t make out. I ease past a tower of discarded crates to get even closer and my shoes squeak. Shit!

  The General looks in my direction. I press against the stack and freeze.

  Easy, Rue.

  What can I do? What can I really do? I peek. Everything that comes to mind seems equally stupid. The one from the coffee shop fires a pop in the air and slams his foot down again, this time on Brian’s head.

  Brian. His name is Brian.

  He shudders on the ground and the lump in my throat grows.

  He was seventeen and in a band.

  And again, Gun Holder’s sneakers skid the slick red ground. More punches. Brian moves less. I slide down to the floor and hug my knees.

  He had a full scholarship to that H.B.C.U. in D.C. I remember people talking about it.

  “This is a waste of my time. Finish this,” the General says, before muttering the transport spell and dissolving on the spot like a ghost.

  Then the gunshot comes. Pop.

  I cry harder and louder as more shots pop in my ears. I rake my fingers through my hair. I want to run out and stop them. I glare at my broken wrists and bite back a scream.

  He was in the National Honor Society, going to walk across the stage in a few months.

  Vomit hovers at the back of my throat.

  Brian’s feet don’t twitch. His hands don’t move. Tears slop over my fingers and I try to stop them, but they just come harder. More shots split the air.

  “Stop,” I whisper, rocking back and forth. “Just stop, please.”

  A car alarm wails outside and someone’s knocking at the shop entrance. All of a sudden the warehouse is still. Someone’s coming. They look at one another and I duck down as they rush past. The warehouse door creaks shut and I let out the scream I’ve been holding in.

  Brian lies there, swimming in a growing pool of blood. I hurry over to him and throw myself down at his side. Blood, there’s so much blood. A flash of Moms’s stoop haunts me a second before I blink it away. He’s bleeding out, dying alone with no one but me to weep for him. I press the cotton of his hoodie to my face.

  Brian. His name is Brian.

  His chest is soaked from my salty tears. My phone. I fumble it from my pocket, looking around, and punch in nine-one-one.

  “Jus—just hold on.” Tears gush from my eyes. I don’t know if he can hear my words, but I say them anyway. I take his hands in mine. “Someone, please please hurry please!” The cry scorches my throat.

  “Ma’am I need your address.” The emergency responder’s voice blasts in my ear.

  My mind’s fuzzy, but I manage to tell them where we’re at. Sirens sound far off and I shake Brian’s shoulders, my nose a congested mess of sniffles. “A little longer.” I shake harder. Please, don’t go. “Just hang on a minute longer.”

  His skin grows colder with his every breath. Until, his eyes still. I hunch over him, ear pressed to his chest.

  Nothing.

  I grab his sleeves and tug, willing him to move, desperate for some sign of life. His mouth hangs sideways.

  It’s too late.

  He’s gone.

  “Ahhhh!” I cry until my chest aches and my throat burns. Everything’s blurred and foggy. He can’t be gone. Just a little more time is all he needs. He can’t—I pound my fists on his chest. I was here, right here, and couldn’t do shit but watch them hurt
him.

  Sirens whoop so loud I expect to hear people come in any moment. Brian still stares up, so I brush his eyelids closed.

  I have to go.

  The paramedics should be almost here.

  Brian. His name is Brian.

  I fire off a text to Tash without details, telling her to stay put, then, swipe up on my watch and my missed messages from Bri pop up.

  Bri: Rue??? You ok??? Hello??? I can’t hack it!!!! Rue??? I’m so scared!! Rue???

  Me: Ready my watch signal with a cloaking spell. I’m coming back to Ghizon.

  Bri: OMG I was so worried. Okay! Ready in 5…

  I’ve already called nine-one-one. Avenging Brian, protecting us—all of us—is the best I can do now.

  Bri: 4…

  I need my magic back. Whatever it takes.

  Bri: 3…

  I grit my teeth, anger dancing with my sadness.

  Bri: 2…

  There is one Ghizoni who might be willing to help.

  Bri: 1…

  My father, Aasim.

  CHAPTER 19

  Four Months Ago

  THE FOOD IN GHIZON is probably the most tolerable part. It doesn’t taste too bad. It needs some seasoning, and by that I don’t mean salt and pepper. That’s a given. It’s what you add after that, Ms. Leola would say, that gives it flavor.

  Aasim sits across from me in the kostarum, which is basically like a cafeteria (“food room” is the literal translation, I think) for all Bound students in training. Most give my table a wide berth, but it doesn’t faze me at this point.

  I scoop the leez, a creamy puréed-looking substance, and take a bite, intent on not looking straight ahead. It’s savory-sweet on my tongue, like garlic when it’s been roasted awhile. These weekly lunches were not my idea. They were his. Avoiding him is easy enough on a regular day, between dorm, class, eating, and hanging with Bri (and Luke, the latest development in our posse, a.k.a Bri’s new boyfriend).

  But here, when he’s sitting across from me, it’s the most annoying part of my week. Bri sits a few tables over hugged up with Luke. I told her to come get me in ten. Act like it was some urgent study thing. She winks at me, Luke’s arm snaked around her neck.