Sweet Peril

by Wendy Higgins

  He calls her devil woman. They agree she must be taught a lesson.

  Frightened for her, I held my breath to see what would happen. With one last sultry look in the seething man’s direction, Zania slid off the chair and sauntered through the crowd of dancers toward the exit. The man stood to follow. I’d like to think she was sprinting home at this moment, but something told me Zania allowed herself to be taught lessons on a regular basis. Well, whatever usually happened, it sure as heck wasn’t going to happen tonight. By the hard look on Kope’s face, he was in agreement. He threw some money on the table and we got up to follow them.

  Outside the nightclub, one way led to crowds of people and hopping nightlife. In the other direction were the outskirts of town, quiet and dark. It was from that direction we heard a muffled female cry of pain. We moved quickly, trying not to draw attention toward the alleyway where we headed. We turned the dark corner just in time to see the man open palm Zania on the side of her face. Twice.

  A shot like that to the temple would have sent anyone sprawling, but he had a hold of her ripped shirt, which hung open to reveal a bloody spot at the top of her white bra. Was that . . . had he bitten her? When he ripped open the button of her black pants, I gasped.

  Everything happened quickly then. Kope burst forward, grabbed the guy, and slammed his face into the wall with a crack. Zania fell and I ran to her side, crouching to lift her head into my lap. Her eyes fluttered.

  “You’re okay,” I told her. Alcohol fumes wafted up at me as I smoothed back her hair, and my insides clenched with a greedy need. I did my best to ignore it and was careful not to touch the bloody welt growing on her cheekbone.

  Kope had the guy’s arm cranked behind his back and they were conversing none too friendly in Arabic. The man looked to be pleading his case, but Kopano wasn’t having any of it.

  “No man of God sheds the blood of a woman for tempting him,” Kope growled in English. There was a fury in his stance that made me pause and watch, wondering if he’d be able to rein in the temptation to bring down his wrath on this guy.

  The man barked a hate-filled response and spat bloody saliva down the wall.

  “He knows English?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Kope answered.

  Good. I needed to get rid of this guy immediately before Kope’s wrath could escalate. I spoke sharply.

  “You are going to leave us, right now, and not attempt to follow us or harm us in any way.” I pressed the meaning of my words toward him, using the persuasive power of influence that I’d gained through my double-angel parentage. I didn’t know if it would work on this strong-willed man, but thankfully his mind was weaker than it had seemed.

  “Yes!” the man shouted. With reluctance, Kope pulled him from the wall and shoved him toward the alley’s exit. When he’d gotten his footing and ran, Kope stood there, shaking in anger. His light eyes had darkened, and I needed to calm him.

  “It’s okay, Kope,” I whispered up at him. “He’s gone now. Let it go.”

  He shuddered and paced for a few minutes, clenching and unclenching his hands. I gave him a smile of reassurance as I watched his breathing slow to normal. Not wasting a minute more, he leaned down and lifted Zania’s long, lightweight frame into his arms and began the trek to her house. The streets of the neighborhoods were quiet. We passed a few people who stared, but thankfully nobody tried to stop us or question the scene.

  At Zania’s house, I dug my hand into her pocket and pulled out the single key to let us in.

  “Which way is your room, Zania?” Kope asked. Her name sounded melodic on his lips. She lifted a floppy hand toward the stairs.

  I rushed ahead up the stairs and opened the door, switching on the lamp and pulling back the coverlet before stepping out of the way. Kope laid her down with care. Then in a move that surprised me, he slid the high heels off her feet and placed them on the floor before covering her. His hands shook, and I wondered if it was leftover nerves from the altercation with the man. Watching Kope handle her with such care stirred an unexpected surge of affection inside me.

  Zania whispered something, and with his hands still on the top of the blanket, he leaned down to listen.

  She brought her arms around his shoulders and pulled him down.

  “You can kiss me,” she whispered.

  My eyebrows went straight up and Kope’s back stiffened. With a strangled grunt, he dropped the blanket and disengaged from her grasping arms. For one tense instant he stared at her like she was a bejeweled serpent, beautiful yet poisonous.

  “I am sorry,” he whispered low.

  His eyes shot to mine for one hot moment before he turned to leave us. I heard him go down the stairs and out the front door.

  Whoa.

  Zania rolled to her side and curled up, making a choking sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

  “Even brother Neph are repulsed by my touch,” she slurred.

  “What?” I was shocked. “No, I can assure you Kope was not repulsed. Just the opposite, I think.” His lifestyle was common knowledge among our group, so I hoped he wouldn’t mind if I explained a little to alleviate her concern.

  “Kopano is celibate, but he doesn’t hate women. He’s nothing like that man tonight.”

  I smoothed her hair back, and touched her face with soft fingers. I found myself nursing her as Patti had done me when I was ill from the maturation of my senses. Zania made that choking sound again and a torrent of tears poured forth. When I moved closer to hold her, she reached out and clung to me as she cried, pressing her face into my abdomen.

  “Don’t leave me,” she begged through drunken, pained tears. My eyes stung. The thought of having to leave her the next day made me sick to my stomach. I wished I could pack her up and take her with me. All I could do was hope that we’d earned her trust and that she’d hold the glimmer of optimism in her heart to get her through each day.

  As she fell asleep curled in my arms, her words haunted me. Don’t leave me.

  I woke before Zania in the morning, parched. I went downstairs to the kitchen and drank a glass of water. At the bottom of the stairs I noticed a room in the corner with the door ajar. It was dim, but I could make out pictures stuck on the walls. Holding the glass, I tiptoed to the room and pushed the door open.

  It appeared to be some sort of fancy office, but the space had been cheapened by newspaper clippings and pictures tacked and taped across the walls in a sickening collage. I took a few steps in and read headlines about battles and wars, primarily in the Middle East and Africa. Genocides and mass slaughter attacks were highlighted. Some of the pictures were too gruesome to warrant more than a glance. I took a step back, realizing with disgust that this was Sonellion’s shrine to hatred. Prepared to leave, I glimpsed a picture on the desk that caught my morbid curiosity. It was an African child, a toddler, naked, crying on the ground with a woman leaning over her. What in the world was she doing? Slick fear ran through me.

  “That is his most recent pet project.” Zania’s husky morning voice made me jump and spill some water. Even with puffy eyes and a tiny bruise, she was stunning.

  “What’s she doing to the baby?” I prayed she would refuse to tell me.

  “Female circumcision.” Her voice was quiet. She wouldn’t look at the pictures. “They remove the parts that allow them to enjoy sex.”

  My insides rolled, and I brought my free hand to my mouth while the hand holding the glass trembled. She took it from me and walked out of the office. I followed her into the kitchen.

  I stood there, sick and numb. “Why would anyone do that?”

  “Did your father not teach you about the evil wiles of the female race?” Her tone was tainted with sarcasm. She set my glass on the marble counter and crossed her arms. “Women have no self-control and cannot be faithful. We aim to seduce every man we encounter because we cannot help our natures. In this way they are helping females and ensuring their loyalty.”

  I ran past Zania, thinking about the ti
ny girl in the picture. I made it to the bathroom just in time to lose my glass of water in the toilet. I coughed as I crouched on the ground, tasting acid. Oh, God above . . . this was the project Sonellion was working on right now—the thing my father hadn’t wanted to tell me.

  I wouldn’t cry in front of Zania. I closed my eyes tight and tried to shut out the memory of those images.

  “You are ill?” Zania asked from the doorway. I shook my head, wishing I could stand.

  “Sometimes I get . . . overwhelmed by all the pain,” I explained.

  Zania stared down at me with her awesome mane of black waves like I was the strangest creature she’d ever seen. I wanted her to think I was strong and worthy of aligning herself with, but I felt weak. I fumbled for the tissues. Zania pulled out two sheets and handed them to me before squatting at my side. I blotted my dampened, scratchy eyes.

  Her gaze searched me for any sign of falsehood or insincerity as I blew my nose. “You helped me last night,” she said.

  “We tried. But that guy worked fast.”

  Zania peered at the floor and let her hair fall, blocking her face. Her hand shook.

  “You held me like a mother,” she said.

  “I was glad to be there for you.” I gave her my warmest heartfelt look. “I have to leave today. I wish I could stay or take you with me. I came here to bring you the good news and I hope when the time is right you’ll be an ally.”

  “How can a woman like me help? I do not bother with self-control as you do. Look”—she held out a shaking hand—“even now I tremble for the poison my body craves. And it helps me face my tasks. It numbs the hatred.”

  I closed my eyes. I understood that. I really did.

  “You’ll get yourself killed if you keep drinking.”

  “I do not care.”

  “But I do.” I grabbed her hands in mine and spoke with all the earnest conviction in my heart. “Think of all the little girls the Dukes will have in future generations. Girls who will grow up without the love of a mother. Girls who are doomed to hate their lives. We can change that, Zania! I don’t know how, but I know it can happen in our lifetime. We need you. All I ask is that you keep yourself alive and be ready. Please.”

  I felt her hands shaking in mine. Her eyes were wet.

  “I need a drink,” she said in a small voice. A bitter laugh followed from far in her throat.

  “No,” I choked out. I couldn’t very well send her to rehab or stay by her side to nurse her through detox. What I was asking her to do was nearly impossible and we both knew it.

  “All things are possible,” I whispered, just as much for my own benefit as hers. I leaned forward and we hugged. She was breathing hard, clinging to me with the same grasping urgency she had the night before.

  “My sister,” I murmured. “You can do it.”

  Fall

  Senior Year

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LONDON

  I received a text message from Dad during the homecoming football game, telling me to check my email. I ditched my school-spirited party crew in the bleachers and took off for home. Dad had hooked me up with a supersecure server last year for our communications. My hands actually shook as I fired it up.

  Patti came in my room, looking surprised to see me.

  “It’s from Dad,” I told her. She stood over my shoulder and read along.

  I have another prospect, but the timing hasn’t worked out yet. In the meantime I want you and Kopano to go to London to inform the girls. Your itinerary is attached.

  Sweet! I was going to see the twins! I printed my itinerary and deleted the email. Patti squeezed me tight from behind as I grinned.

  A week later, in the middle of October, I was skipping school to fly to England. I sent Jay and Veronica a vague message telling them I’d be out for a few days doing some stuff for my dad. I could tell them where I’d gone when I got home, even though mentioning Marna might not be a good idea with those two.

  Kope flew down from Boston and met me at the departure gate for our flight from Atlanta. I could hardly contain my excitement as we boarded the plane, and Kope seemed to be lighthearted, as well. Our last trip had been so stressful, but this one had a different feeling.

  I looked forward to sitting next to Kope during the flight since we hadn’t on the way to Syria. Being the diligent do-gooders we were, we both took out our schoolwork after takeoff.

  I turned to Kope and found him watching me, a heavy book open on his lap. It was always a little startling to discover his serious eyes on me, and he must have sensed my surprise because he gave a shy smile and let his attention fall back to his book.

  After several hours I needed a break from math problems and history facts. I laid all my stuff in the open seat between Kope and me. He closed his book and laid it with mine.

  I looked down at his texts. Population and Development Studies. Biological Studies in Public Health. His eyes were on his hands as he rubbed his palms back and forth. I wished I knew how to make him more comfortable around me. He used to be more open, but lately it was like he was too careful.

  “How much longer do you have in college?” I asked him.

  “This is my final year.”

  “Oh, wow, that seems fast.”

  He glanced down at his books. “It will be two semesters early. I’ve taken classes every summer.”

  A small grin formed on my lips when he said “semestahs” and “summah.” His accent was beautiful, with similar sounds to Jamaican English and the Queen’s English, but something all its own. I watched him with avid curiosity before he caught my eye and looked down at his light-brownish-pink palms.

  “And what are you studying?” I asked, bending one leg up in the seat and positioning myself to face him.

  He kept his eyes on his clasped fingers, nodding his head as he answered. “The spread of disease among populations. Primarily HIV and AIDS.”

  Anytime I could get Kope to open up felt like a small success.

  “Do you miss Malawi?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “What’s it like there?”

  He paused and tilted his head, face serious. “Everyone lives in huts with no electricity.”

  “Oh,” I said, frowning. A dimpled grin spread across his smooth face and I gasped. “You’re messing with me!”

  I was so delighted by his teasing that I reached out and gave his upper arm a little smack, before remembering myself. I wrapped my arms around my leg and held tight. Kopano gave a small laugh, finally meeting my eyes.

  “That is what everyone thinks about Africa,” he said. “And it is like that in some parts, but we also have large cities, same as America.” While he was talking, his hand reached up and touched the spot on his arm where I’d hit him.

  “What do you miss most about it?” I asked.

  He leaned in against the armrest and his demeanor took on a dreamy reverence.

  “The waters of Lake Malawi are like crystal.” The name of his country sounded magical on his lips. “Wild animals and birds everywhere. I miss the nights with no artificial light to dim the stars. But mostly I miss the sense of community among the people. There is much that can be improved among the leadership, but the people are kind. They respect the land and one another.”

  I watched as he reined in his passion. We’d both leaned in, trying to keep our conversation hushed.

  There’d always been something commanding about Kopano’s presence. Seeing him worked up showed a man willing to battle injustices firsthand. He could go head-to-head with the men who’d been led to their downfalls by his own father. My admiration deepened. I glanced at his book about diseases.

  “Is AIDS really bad there?” I probably sounded ignorant, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  He rubbed a hand across his brow, which now bore a deep crease. “One in fourteen people. Orphanages are overrun. It’s not acceptable.”

  One in fourteen people. That would be one or two people in each of my classes at school. N
o wonder the subject made him so distraught. Seeing his love and concern, I reached my hand out and took his. He shifted in his seat and his back straightened. I waited while he yielded to the feel of my touch and seemed to relax. I wanted to be a friend to him—to be able to comfort him. I hoped he could accept it for what it was.

  He turned our wrists so that my hand was on top and he could look at it. My skin was pale against his. With his other hand he ran a finger over the small rifts and valleys of my knuckles, looking at my skin as if it held some universal truth. As he lavished attention on my fingers, the gesture of friendship I’d offered somehow morphed. He raised his hazel eyes to mine. Differing feelings flashed through me. Not wanting to send mixed signals, I gave him a smile and slipped my hand from his. I gripped the armrest, still feeling his pleasant touch on my skin.

  The flight attendants were pulling the beverage cart to our row. One of the attendants, a pretty, dark-skinned woman with red lipstick, gave Kope the once-over before taking my drink order. It was weird to see someone check him out like that. She poured me a cup of ice water and leaned over Kope to give it to me. Her aura reddened as her hip lingered against his arm. He discreetly turned his head, avoiding a face full of feminine curves. I bit my lip against a smile.

  “Thank you,” I told her.

  She gave one last, hopeful glance in his direction before pushing the cart to the next row. Kope’s head leaned back and his chest released a long, quiet breath. Poor guy. Must have been hard to be celibate, charming, and good-looking.

  Landing in London affected me more than I’d expected. Passing guys with their English accents had my head spinning, eyes looking, heart squeezing and sputtering. I didn’t want to think of Kaidan. It hurt too much. But everything here was infused with him. I envisioned him walking the crowded sidewalks and entering a pub with band friends as we came to our hotel for check-in.