by J. Elle
“Shoot, I was just hoping to bust up in his tattoo shop Scarface style. Tell ’em say hello to my little friend….” I set the cuffs on the table. “When I get these bad boys working, that is.”
“You will. Keep trying. It’s in you, Rue.”
“And, uhm, is it just us? Can you even help?” I don’t mean it to sound rude. It sort of does. “I mean, Bri mentioned something about your magic being reprimanded because I left, or whatever.”
He wipes his face. “The Chancellor poisoned my magic. Much like the chaser you felt after using magic to save your sister. Without the antidote, you would have—”
“Died.”
“Yep, mine’s just a bit more severe. And the Chancellor’s the only one who can undo it.” He’s staring off in the distance. This isn’t something he’s trying to talk about. I can respect that.
“My bad. I didn’t know he’d do that to you when I left. I—”
“Don’t be. He actually did this to me when he found out about your mother. When I brought you here a year ago, he’d said he’d never trust me with magic again. None of that is your fault. All my own doing.”
“It’s fear. He’s just scared of you because you don’t need his stupid onyx.”
“He’s scared of you, too, trust me. With your Ancestors’ magic and your mother’s hard head… he’s smart to be scared.”
I laugh.
“And I can use magic, Rue, it just has a steep price. He hasn’t taken my powers. He can’t do that and he knows it. But he’s attached a death toll on it that’ll trigger if I use a spell. If I transport to your home, I die. If I strike someone with magic, I die.”
I shift in my seat, cuffs clinking in my zipped pocket.
“In many ways,” he says, grimacing, “I’m not much use at all.”
“Not true. I have these cuffs because of you.” I nudge his shoulder. “I’m going to destroy them. All of them. And I wouldn’t be able to do that without your help. Moms used to say ain’t nobody gonna do for you what—”
He finishes my sentence “—what you won’t do for yourself.” Our eyes meet and his droop. He throws an arm around my shoulder. I let him.
“I loved her, Rue. More than life itself.”
Something about the solemn look in his eye, or maybe it’s the way his shoulders slump, makes me believe him.
“Jelani?” The familiar voice makes my toes curl. “Excuse me, I’m sorry. I was wondering if I could have a word with you?” I don’t even have to turn around to know Jhamal’s behind me. I chance a look at my father, who pauses chewing, eyes on our visitor.
This is awkward. Please don’t say anything to embarrass me. He looks between us several times, but says nothing, thankfully.
Jhamal bows, half his chest covered in a gold breastplate. “Ruler Aasim.”
“No need for all that.” My father waves a hand as he finishes his bite and stands. “I was just, uh—finishing up. Rue, if I could see you over here a second?”
I resist rolling my eyes as Jhamal dips his chin.
“What’s that about?” my father asks, pulling me to the side.
“Nothing,” I say, pushing him to walk away. “Weren’t you just leaving?”
“No, really. Who’s that?” He points back, craning his neck.
I shove him along harder. “No one.”
“Do you like him?” he whispers, lips twisted in a suggestive smile.
“OMG. I’m not doing this with you. Go. Shoo. Don’t you have some recon to do? I’ll see you later so we can get out of here.”
He steps outside but turns back, a whimsical look in his eye. “I’m just saying, a Ghizoni boy paired with our blood could ma—”
“Dadddd!” I cover my ears, cheeks burning. “Stahhhp.”
“Too soon?” He throws his hands up in surrender. It’s actually kind of cute.
“Bye!” I can’t stop smiling as my dad disappears around the corner. I blow a quick breath before turning around.
“Shall we walk?” Jhamal’s voice rolls off his tongue like honey and I bite my lip. Ow.
Fire flickers in crescent-shaped bowls, warming the craggy corridor. Outside the dining hall, a path leads us to an opening, brimming with sunlight. We walk toward it, the clang of his armor echoing our steps.
“I heard you are really leaving soon. I just wanted to say goodbye.” His eyes twinkle and soft impressions dent his perfect cheeks. What is it with me and dimples? I friggin’ love them. I’m warm all over. Much warmer than before.
“I’m sad to see you go, but you have monsters to fight,” he adds.
Sunlight washes over us and the stuffy air evaporates. I dig the toe of my shoe in the ground. “No one else can fix this. I will.”
“I am a good fighter. If you’re ever in need of extra hands, it would be an honor to come to your aid. Even with little magic, give me a weapon and I will draw blood.”
What is it with dudes always trying to save you?
“You think you tough, huh?” I give him side-eyes and we crack up laughing. We pass beneath the shade of a particularly bendy jpango tree and for that glimmer of a moment, laughing, the noise of everything fades.
“It is true, I do not have magical relics from the Ancestors, but I can do whoop-ass too.”
He’s hilarious. I playfully slap his bare shoulder, his rounded muscle flexing beneath my fingers. These folks really need central AC.
“If I ever need help, you’ll be the first I call.” I don’t know if it’s true. But it feels good to say.
“I will hold on to that, my Queen.” His gaze stays on mine as he presses his soft lips to my knuckles. Heat rushes through me like a waterfall shoved through a clogged drain.
I should pull away, but I don’t.
He should let go, but he doesn’t.
Somehow we’re inches closer than we were a moment ago. My breath is fragile in my chest. His eyes hold me there as if I’m floating.
Say something, stop staring all googly eyed. “I—”
“Ssshhh.” He presses a finger to my lips. “We won’t say goodbye. Just see you later.”
I close my eyes, savoring the moment, when my arm vibrates with a loud buzz. Orange light flashes from my watch, blinding me.
It’s Luke.
I put some distance between us and the warmth dissolves as quick as it came. Tiny letters form on the screen.
Luke: RUE, TASHA’S BEEN TAKEN! GET HOME, HURRY!
My pulse spikes. “I’m sorry. I—”
Jhamal stares, confused.
“I—I have to go.” I try to run off, but he holds on to my fingers.
“It is quicker on the edge of the island, the Ancestors’ burial ground.” He glances at my watch. “You are leaving, yes? Something’s wrong. I see it in your eyes.” He points. “The way you came is long. But on the very edge of the sea, where you saw me training, go there. Your transport signal will work.” His fingers still hold on to mine. His words are saying go, but his touch is saying something different altogether.
“Please don’t tell Aasim. Don’t tell anyone.”
He dips his chin in a slight bow, but I can see the disapproval in his stare. I mouth the words “Thank you,” savoring the last of his touch. My hand slips from his fingers and I run. Down the path through the trees, the edge of the island looms. I glance at the gold metal peeking from my pocket. “Hope this works.”
Choppy waves slap jagged rock as the dining area and surrounding huts grow smaller in the distance. I urge my feet faster, air ragged in my lungs. The sky is stormy, black with cracks of lightening in the distance. The cuffs clank against each other and I zip up my pocket so they’re tucked away safe.
Sharp gusts whip my clothes every which way, like hands pulling, tugging me back, begging me not to go. Salty air stings my eyes when I reach the Ancestors’ burial ground where Jhamal was training. My fingers hover over my watch.
What do I tell Bri?
Me: Ready my signal to Tasha’s NOW! URGENT!!
&n
bsp; Bri:???
Me: No time!! NOW pls.
Bri: Five seconds… Rue, don’t go alone, please.
Four…
Three…
Bri: Rue?? Hello??
Two…
Aasim’s face flashes in my mind.
One…
Sorry, Dad. You’d try to stop me.
CHAPTER 31
THE BLOCK IS QUIET.
Too quiet.
A breeze whips by, unsettling a cluster of fallen leaves as I hurry past. Row after row of apartments are on either side, Ms. Leola’s door growing larger the closer I get. The moon hangs high in the sky. Somebody should be outside, chopping it up or rolling by.
People ’round the block at night are like eyes and ears. Always watching out. It’s like unsaid rules around here. It ain’t never quiet. Not like this.
Unless… folks saw something, gave them a reason to hole up inside.
Hair stands on my neck and I creep closer to Ms. Leola’s. This might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but what choice do I have? I’m counting on these cuffs answering if I need them. Counting on it like my life depends on it. Like all our lives depend on it.
The door handle on Ms. Leola’s is chilly and slightly ajar, creaking as I slip it open. I press an ear to it.
Silence.
It pricks my spine like needles. I slip inside and a haze of smokiness and the scent of bacon greet me. Something’s burning. Ms. Leola usually sleeps with the hall light on. But it’s pitch black.
Closer to the kitchen the burnt grease smell is growing. I peek my head in and cough. Charred strips of bacon are smoking on the stove. Fanning the haze, I flip the burner off and spot a note.
Going over to Bertha’s. Won’t be long.
Make sure you eat yourself something.
Back soon.
Ms. Leola
This note is for Tasha. Of course Ms. Leola’s at her sister’s; Demarcus ain’t even in the ground yet.
“T-Tash?”
Panic flutters in me like a moth searching for a place to land. I move down the hall and duck my head into a spare bedroom on the left. Everything’s tidy, bed made. The silence is deafening. I strain to hear something, anything, some sound, some hint of life. My breath comes harder and my hands shake.
“T!” My voice is cracked, weak. “Tash, where you at?”
She’s not answering.
Something nudges my foot. “Ah!” I scream.
“Meow.” Cupcake shoves his head against my leg, purring. I scoop him up and swallow the grimace.
“Cupcake, where is she?” I’m talking to a cat. It’s dumb, but desperation is rarely smart. “Wh-where’s Tasha?” My eyes sting and I blink faster. “Wh-what happened…?”
He meows again and frees himself from my grasp. He starts to run off, but looks back. Follow? He wants me to follow him?
The bell jingling around his neck rings down the hall. I’m on his tail as he slips inside Ms. Leola’s room, closing the door behind me. Her embroidered maroon bed cover is straight as a board, without a single crease. A mothy scent reminiscent of old perfume stings my nose. My feet are like bags of wet sand.
I hold the air in because that’s easier than breathing. Faint noises float through the air—coming from the bathroom in the back of Ms. Leola’s bedroom.
Music.
Old tunes like Moms used to jam play from the cracked bathroom door. Cupcake slips inside. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. What am I about to see? I grab a wire hanger from the closet. Just in case.
“Aaaatttt laasssssst.” Etta James’s fuzzy voice churns the fear coiled in my gut and I press another foot forward. I wrap my fingers around the cold knob.
One…
Two…
Three…
I whip the door open, yelling.
“Ahhh!” Tasha screams and water goes everywhere.
My heart jumps out of my chest. Cupcake circles my legs. She’s taking a fucking bath? WHAT THE HELL. I grip my chest and plop on the toilet top, trying to calm my nerves. “Turn off the stove when you’re cooking!”
“Oh shoot.”
“You gon’ burn down the damn house.”
“You scared the daylights out of me!” She touches the necklace at her throat before reaching for a towel. “What are you doing here?”
What am I doing here…?
Luke.
Luke said…
But no one’s…
My blood stills. I’m being set up.
“Get dressed and lock yourself in this bathroom. Lock it. I mean it!”
She hesitates a second, then stumbles up. I dash out the bathroom, across the dimly lit bedroom, and press an ear to the closed bedroom door.
Nothing.
I slip into the hall. Luke set me up? That bastard set me up! Trying to draw me out. The General’s dawgs or the General himself are here somewhere, bet. My legs tremble, but I force them still. I check the room with Moms’s old stuff. No broken windows, nothing missing. No one’s there. I whip open a side closet, hanger clutched in my hand. Still nothing. The kitchen is smoky but otherwise undisturbed. With quiet steps I head to Ms. Leola’s back door, peeking through her windows. No one’s there.
Weird… I exhale.
“T, I’ma check out front. But stay—”
A warm hand smothers me.
I can’t breathe.
I claw at his grip, but it tightens. My breath comes out in stutters and I ram an elbow backward at his ribs, but miss. I-I need air. I try slamming a heel on his toe. He sidesteps. I pull, yank, writhe every which way, but his arms are like a straitjacket. My scream comes out muffled. He’s too strong.
“Where’s the cuffs?” His voice is low, sharp.
Th-the cuffs?
They know about the cuffs?
But how did they…? Luke.
I’m dragged down the hallway toward the room with Moms’s stuff. I kick and fight, the wall coarse against my fingers. I claw, scratching, reaching for anything, something. Wood from a picture frame grazes my fingertips, but slips from my clammy grasp.
I strain, fighting him with every bit of strength I have, my lungs screaming for a breath. He doesn’t budge and holds my face tighter.
Air, I need air!
“The cuffs! Find them.” He shoves us through the doorway and piles of Moms’s things lie in boxes. My head feels like a balloon and spots dent the corners of my vision. I reach, grasping for anything, something. Dust coats my fingers as I grab at one of Moms’s old bookshelves.
“Hold still, you little—” He hits me in the back and I claw for the spine of a book. It slips, thudding to the ground.
“Which of these boxes has the bracelets?” he says, his grip suffocating me.
Everything’s blurry. I reach harder for something on the shelf and my fingers close around cold brass. It’s as heavy as lead. I slam it backward toward his head.
Smack.
He grunts, his hand slackening a second. I bite into the fingers clamped to my mouth and taste copper. He howls and I’m able to break free from him. I gulp down air, my lungs parched and jump on him, punching, kicking, screaming.
“Get! Off! Me!” My arms ache and I can hardly see, but I fling blows harder and faster. My fist connects with bone and suddenly my hands are sticky, red.
He reaches for me, one eye open, and I run. If I can get him outside, he’s that much farther away from Tasha. He’s behind me, so close I can smell him. I whip the front door open.
“Get back here,” he yells as he snatches my hoodie, pulling it taut around my neck.
“Ahhh!” I strain, forcing myself forward, the threads of my hoodie threatening to rip. I shove my way outside and he spills out Ms. Leola’s, losing his grip on my clothes.
Humming streetlights paint the sidewalk orange in the dusky evening light. My body aches and my hand stings, but I keep my eyes on him, fists raised. This ain’t over.
He’s panting, face bloody, seething mad. A few people rush past, h
urrying inside. He swings a jab, but I duck and shimmy sideways—away from Ms. Leola’s door. As far away from her door as possible.
A guy with a bat dents my peripheral.
Shit.
And another, this one with a gun in hand.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
My cuffs. I reach for my zipper, but my sticky fingers slip. The guys circle me and Gun Holder points the barrel, gesturing for me to move to the center.
I ball my fists.
“Rue?” Ms. Leola’s voice sends a jolt through me. “Baby?” She stands on the sidewalk, holding a bag of groceries. This can’t be happening.
“No!” I’m surrounded and try to lunge toward her, but my scalp burns like fire when I’m snatched backward by my hair. He holds on tight. The dude with the bloody face and one working eye pulls my hands behind my back, squeezing so hard my bones feel like they might break. I swallow the pain. They won’t hear me squeal.
Gun Holder points her way and I can’t breathe.
“Back up old lady, get in the house,” the voice behind me says. I struggle, but his grip on me is tight. Bat Holder’s eyes meets mine and they’re heavy with hate. Which is crazy because I don’t even know this dude.
But because his racist-ass boss hates me, he hates me too.
A pair of kids on bicycles roll by and my heart stops. They pedal faster, thank goodness. Seconds later a door creaks open and claps shut.
“G-go inside,” I plead with Ms. Leola. “P-please, just go inside.” She shakes her head no, but I can see the fear in her eyes.
“If you don’t want trouble, listen to Rue,” the guy holding on to me says.
“You gon’ let go of my granddaughter, or so help me!” She balls a bony fist, her wrinkly eyes menacing.
I’m crying.
“P-please, just go inside,” I say. This ain’t a fight she can win. People start peeping through screen doors, ducking their heads out, then going back in.
“Dave, she got a smart-ass mouth. Snatch her up too.” Gun Holder gestures to the one with the bat and he moves toward Ms. Leola. She bred from ’round here, so as he closes in on her she doesn’t flinch.
