Wings of Ebony

by J. Elle

  But it’s not true. I still have people to look out for, battles to fight. The Chancellor’s still out there.

  “I hope so too.” I tuck a hair behind my ear and tighten the grip on the rope over my shoulder.

  The General grunts in pain.

  “But first, there’s one more thing I need to do.”

  CHAPTER 38

  I AM A RACIST.

  The letters on the sign at the General’s feet are painted in red, for blood. I’d have used his actual blood, but it was sticky as hell. Marker was easier. But the message is the same. He’s tied to a chair, his mouth bound, cuffs on his hands.

  He tried to destroy my home and hide in another world.

  Now he’s going to sit on my block and own what he did.

  East Row surrounds us. Not just the buildings, the homes, the cars blasting jams, but the people. The grandmas hollering at kids to get out the street, the plates going from one door to the next, the shuffle of shoes on the basketball court.

  Kids on bikes roll past with a glance. Some stop and stare, phones out at the busted-up white dude in his crisp collared shirt. Some keep moving.

  I clamp a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “You gon’ look at this place, these people, and face what you did.”

  No closed courtroom doors.

  No expensive lawyers.

  No whispered conversations.

  No under-the-table deals.

  No power.

  No privilege.

  This is justice the block is gon’ see.

  If he hears me he doesn’t respond. He keeps his eyes shut. It’s so funny how hard people work to not see their wrongs. This dude won’t even look.

  But that’s alright.

  Soon.

  I check my watch. TV and news crews thought I was joking when I called and said I’d caught the leader of Litto’s crew. Somebody must have believed me, because in minutes it was all over blogs and calls started coming in. I had told them all the same—meet me in East Row.

  Justice is going down here.

  I told the reporters to expect a big bust going down at Dezignz, too, where Julius is holed up. He was freaking out by the time I called. He had said the guys in the warehouse were starting to get suspicious, but he was able to keep them there under the threat that Litto himself would be there any moment.

  It probably helped that I put the General on speakerphone, and with some fiery prodding—literally—he said just what I told him to. Nobody budged after that. I had told Julius on the low to just sit tight and wait for the Feds. And that thanks to recorders from Kid, Bo, Ole Jesse, and the others, plus what the General ’bout to admit to the world here, there’ll be enough evidence to lock him up for life.

  His head hangs and the crowd around us grows. A woman walks up holding a poster with a picture of a boy about Tasha’s age.

  “I saw all that stuff online.” She wears a neon yellow shirt that matches the poster. Two years are scrawled on the shirt, with a hyphen in between. “So it’s true?” she asks. “That’s him?”

  I nod, my chest aching at all the blood shed here from this dude’s hate. I embrace her and she smudges away a tear from under her sun shades.

  “Thanks for being here,” I say.

  “Thank you for bringing him down. He been terrorizing East Row for years.” Her voice cracks. “Enough is enough.” She rocks back and forth on her feet, humming, clutching her sign, holding in her pain.

  The General’s eyelids are still closed. “You never told me, why… why you hate us so much.”

  It’s not a real question. There’s not an answer that’ll make sense or lessen the blow. But I can’t shake wanting to hear what he’d say. A group of reporters, cameras on their shoulders, move our way and he parts his chapped lips.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you people.”

  You people. “You will do as you’re told willingly,” I whisper the words he’d told me back in Ghizon, “or you’ll be forced to do as you’re told.” Now the ball’s in my court. I slip the vial of clear bubbly liquid from my pocket that I stole from Luke forever ago and shake it in his face. His eyes grow as I drip the tiniest bit of the truth serum on his lip.

  He tries to spit it out, but it’s too late. His pupils dilate and he’s somewhere between lackadaisical and pissed. I force another drizzle down his throat. People stare, gasp, chatter, but no one stops me.

  “I asked you a question.”

  He speaks between gritted teeth. “It’s funny, you know, when I stumbled on that island with my buddies decades ago, they were stupid. They wanted to try talking to the natives. Not me. I stayed hidden in the foliage. That’s how I got out of there alive. I came back here and tried living a normal life. Joined the service, worked my way up to a one-star. But some Black, affirmative action-type two-star did me in. He took my place. I never liked Coloreds, not one bit. That two-star had heard some things he shouldn’t have about my business and told people that didn’t need to know. He got me discharged, the bastard. When they cut me loose from the military, I told myself to move on. But I couldn’t forget that cold winter and those dirty people with abilities that shouldn’t be possible. I wanted it when I’d first seen it, but I didn’t have means then. But oh, it’s amazing the connections you make working for the government in Intelligence. The friends. People who owe you favors. The things you can get away with.”

  He laughs to himself and a reporter tips closer, holding a microphone under his mouth.

  “It’s not hard watering a seed in a mind that’s already planted it. So I went back to the island when I got out of the service and sold myself better than any resume ever could to that greedy Chancellor. I told him I’d make sure the Americans never came for his island again. And if even a whisper of those brown-skinned people he killed off surfaced, I’d take care of it. It’d be a pleasure.” He smiles. “And the Chancellor couldn’t say yes fast enough. He was hungry before I met him, but he was even hungrier then. All I wanted in return was to be Bound to magic to do my business here. No Colored would ever out-rank me again, in stars or power. I pulled my gang together, fashioned myself a new surname—Litto—and built more wealth and power on these streets than you’ll ever see in your lifetime, girl.”

  “But back in Ghizon, how did you”—the words are bile in my mouth—“rise in the ranks there?”

  “The Chancellor fashioned that paste for my skin to take on that grayish color, strapped me up with plenty of Yoheem Elixir to metabolize my genetics, replenish my fitness levels. Same stuff Patrol takes to keep them in youthful shape. Same stuff the Chancellor takes to keep his cells regenerating at the rate of a twenty-year-old. The man’s, like, a hundred and twenty-five years old, you do realize?”

  The reporters look at one another, brows furrowed, completely bewildered.

  “Once I looked the part, he told the people I was an old buddy from Moyechi, his tribe. He announced I’d be heading up the territory’s security measures. Tightening things up to keep us safer from outsiders. Given their history, they bought it, of course.”

  The lies. So many lies.

  Still, that doesn’t explain everything.

  “What does my mother have to do with any of this?”

  “When the Chancellor found out about you, it rattled him,” he says, reluctantly. “You see, I’m a sea of calm under pressure. Not him. He was hasty, and ordered me to find you and your sister. He demanded I snuff out your entire bloodline to be sure Aasim’s seed was cut, root and stem. We weren’t sure about Aasim’s relation to that Tasha girl, but didn’t want to take any chances. I sent a few guys from my crew here to keep Patrol’s nose out of it. I couldn’t have them knowing about my dealings here, because that would blow the Chancellor’s and my story. The Ghizoni believed I was from there, see. An old friend of his. But they made mistakes. They killed your mother, but couldn’t find you or the other one.”

  My mother and sister might have been an order from the Chancellor, but the General’s smug grin
makes it clear he was happy to carry it out.

  “The Chancellor keeping Aasim alive, believing he could make a ‘son’ out of him in case he needed his raw magic later, was a costly, arrogant misstep.” He turns from the camera to me. “Had he made absolutely sure he killed all those brown fuckers when he united the tribes, you wouldn’t exist. And I wouldn’t be sitting here now.”

  I slap him so hard my hand stings. Reporters and bystanders with phones out swallow us on this tiny patch of concrete in the center of my home. I slap him again.

  “Are you admitting to colluding to commit genocide against…?” The reporter looks to me for clarification.

  “All kinds of brown-skinned people, Black people,” I say.

  “… Black people?” She finishes the question and holds the microphone to him. More microphones pile in next to hers.

  “I did it and I’d do it again,” he says. “Only smarter next time.”

  I clench my fists. I want to clock him, just one more time. But the lady with the yellow poster holds me back. “You’re a racist and you chose to take out your hate on my community! You will rot for this.”

  The reporter prods him again. “Are you the notorious boss of the Litto gang? The gang allegedly responsible for strings of unsolved murders, armed robberies, and drug trafficking across the city?”

  He struggles with the words, fighting the serum, but they force their way out anyway. “I am. You say it like it’s a big deal. These people don’t matter. Never did. Never will.”

  I bite my knuckle to keep from punching him again. Our crowd has swelled, more parents showing up. Between families and the media, there are a hundred around us, maybe more. I recognize Demarcus’s mom, Aunt Bertha. She’s holding a poster with Demarcus’s face grinning at me in his starter jersey from the Jameson basketball team. And like a trigger, more memories play on repeat in my head.

  Brian, his name was Brian.

  Reporters crowd me and video lights turn on.

  The world is watching, Rue, what you gotta say?

  “Brian, his name was Brian,” I say. “He was in the National Honor Society and he was Homecoming King. I didn’t know him personally, but he was Black, like me. He refused to sling drugs. I saw it. And they killed him for it.” I face the General. “Brian, his name was Brian, and he mattered. SAY IT, or so help me I’ll burn your eyes off your face!”

  Anger rises off him like steam. “B-Brian. H-his name w-was Brian.…”

  “And?”

  If looks could kill. “A-and h-he m-mattered.”

  Aunt Bertha’s crying hard, shoulders shaking. I pull her to me. She points to her poster. “H-his name was Demarcus a-and he mattered.” Her voice cracks, but another mother holding a different poster loops her arm in Aunt Bertha’s.

  The General scowls, glancing at me, then speaks. “D-Demarcus. H-he m-mattered.” The words leave his tongue as if they taste like rotten meat, but I’ll take them.

  Another mother speaks up. The one looped in Aunt Bertha’s arm. “And my daughter’s name was Ebony. She was so bright. Only fourteen, and she mattered.”

  He repeats Ebony’s name, seething. More lines of onlookers face the General and tell him their children’s names. He repeats each one, saying they mattered, begrudgingly.

  It doesn’t bring them back.

  It doesn’t change that they’re gone.

  But in a small way, it means something.

  Tires screech and the brown brick apartments around us glow from blue to red. A siren woops and my heart jumps. A caravan of blacked-out SUVs line the perimeter of the block.

  Feds.

  Black-suited men and women step out, guns raised, and swarm around us. My breath catches. But for the first time in as long as I can remember, their barrels are pointed at the right person—the puppetmaster, this racist-ass white dude.

  More guns than I can count are aimed at him, and a lady in a really fancy pants suit with tan skin and dark hair offers me a card. “We should talk. You’ve done good work here.”

  * * *

  I lean back on my elbows at Moms’s old stoop and Julius leans back too. A lady named Keisha lives here now. I explained to her that it used to be my home and how Moms died here. She told me to come back as often as I wanted, that it was as much my home as hers.

  By the time the Feds cleared out the warehouse, Julius was sweating bullets. I had told him I called in to the tip line and left clear evidence and instructions that he was working with me, but still, cops. Guns. That shit’s scary.

  Julius throws an arm around my shoulder. “Yo, what the fuck just happened? You gotta catch me up on the whole story, fam.”

  I do. I really do owe him an explanation, after all this. I laugh. “You don’t realize what you’re asking.”

  He pushes his lips sideways. “Am I fam or am I fam? Do I come through or do I come through?”

  I nudge him with my shoulder in that way I used to do and set my head on his shoulder. “You right, you fam. You already know.”

  “But foreal though, some folks ’round here wary of all this talk about magic and shit. You know I always have your back. That’s a given. But I ain’t know what to say because you ain’t really told me what’s what. So, what’s up? I’m listening.”

  If I can trust no one else on this entire planet, I know I can trust Julius. He knows me like no one else and he’s as good as family. I pull the pieces of onyx from my pocket and turn them in my hands. “Okay… you asked. And it’s easier if I show you instead of tell you.”

  He looks confused.

  “Here goes.” I lace my fingers between his and he sucks in a breath, holding it in for a long minute, shock stamped on his face. I hold my hands tight to his as he absorbs all my memories of Ghizon and everything that just happened. His eyes dart around every which way behind his eyelids. Several moments pass. Then he gasps and I break our grip.

  “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

  “Yeahhhh,” I say.

  “You… I mean… and that General dude… your pops too… damn, I’m so sorry.” He brings my forehead to his. “How could you not tell me this, yo?”

  “I didn’t want you at risk, that’s all. Keeping fam safe is what I do. You’re fam.”

  “I’m more than fam.” He winks and rubs a thumb across my lips. It sends tingles through every part of me. But I pull away gently and put my head back on his shoulder.

  “So what now?” he asks, taking the onyx from my hand. He examines it closely. “All that power can be put in this little tiny stone.”

  “Wild, right?”

  “Ow.”

  “What?”

  “Is it supposed to be warm?”

  “Yeah, when it’s Bound to your skin and filled with magic, it warms when your mag—” Wait, what? “It’s warm?!”

  “Yeah, it—”

  My wrist buzzes and I’m up on my feet, Julius peeking over my shoulder.

  Bri: They broke through the barrier.

  Me: What barrier? Who?

  Bri: Rue, the Chancellor! He’s marching on Yiyo Peak.

  Julius grabs my arm. “Take me with you, I wanna help.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking. It’s different there.”

  “Don’t sound like it.” He doesn’t get how dangerous this could be. “Rue, come on. It’s me.”

  His words jar me. I hadn’t realized until that moment how protecting the people I care about is my knee-jerk reaction. So much so that I shove them away, which probably hurts them, too. It’s a mistake I’m not about to make with him. The world isn’t on my shoulders alone.

  “I’m stubborn.”

  “Say what?”

  “And I don’t listen.” What I want to say is that I wish I’d stopped and thought more. Pondered choices. Set aside my emotions for a moment. Reckless love might still be love, but it can destroy so much in the process. But those words get stuck in my throat.

  “I-I just needed to say it out loud. I’m going to do better. I can’t fix everythi
ng. But together, maybe we in Ghizon and in East Row can fix a lot.”

  “I ride for you, Rue. Always. You know that.” He laces his fingers between mine and it does something to my insides that I try—and fail—to ignore.

  “I know you do. I really do. So, okay. You wanna come to Ghizon and help? I’m not going to say no.”

  “Whaaaa? Rue gon’ accept some help?” He teases, laughing into his fist.

  “Shut up.” I shove him. “But let me go there first. See what’s what, because I don’t know what we’d be walking into.”

  “Aight. That’s a plan.”

  “We’ll figure this out together. I’ll take all the help I can get.” I give his hand one more squeeze and try to let go, but he holds on. “I really have to go. But I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. Promise.” My fingers slip from his. “Oh, here, take this, too.” I hand him my watch. “Be my eyes and ears here on the block, for now. Anything happens, I’m here in a heartbeat.”

  “You don’t need this to get back undetected?”

  “Nope, using a good ole-fashioned spell. Let them trace me, I’m not hiding anymore.” I walk away, letting the East Row sun warm me all over.

  For so long, I’ve felt like I lived in two worlds.

  But that’s because I was forced to choose one over the other.

  I’m not choosing anymore.

  I’m both Rue from East Row and a Ghizoni queen.

  I slip my hoodie off and toss it. Sunlight glints off the golden metal pattern written into my arms. I don’t care who sees. This block is family and they’re gonna know all this power stands with them.

  A few straggling reporters rush my way; their cameras swivel in my direction. Microphones are shoved at me. Video lights shine in my face.

  I ignore it.

  Let the world see.

  Let them know we’re not broken here. We are strong—nobody’s prey.

  And we are taking our magic back.