Nefertiti’s Curse: An Urban Fantasy

by Jamel Cato

  “Like how you treated those dudes back there?”

  “This is exactly what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. All those cats are dirty. Diesel has five bodies, including a little white kid up in Connecticut who didn’t do anything but talk sideways to his cousin. If I hadn’t shown up, he would have gotten two more while you stood there trying to figure out how to keep the kids and old people from gettin’ popped by a stray. And the whole situation was your fault, so anybody that got hurt is on you.”

  “My fault?”

  “Yeah Homey, your fault. None of that would have gone down if you had just talked to Ty at his crib.”

  “Ty moves around a lot. We don’t know where he lives. That was the only place we knew to find him.”

  “You could have asked me where to find him.”

  Xavier didn’t respond.

  “But you don’t call me for anything because you know I give the whole world two choices: Get down or lay down. So instead you roll up on a dice game throwing fake duckets and breaking the whole Street Code.”

  “That money wasn’t fake.”

  “It might as well had been. Who in their right mind would throw a roll of Benjamins to a thug standing on his own damn corner? You think Laron and his crew don’t know that something is up with Ty’s dice skills? They heard ‘bout what he does at the pool halls out in Bed Stuy from another cat named Rome. They had a whole strategy to get their doe back from Ty plus everything he had on him. Even Ty knows that goes down sometimes. The only person on that corner who wasn’t playing the role that life assigned him was you. Nobody would’ve gotten hurt if you hadn’t jumped out the woodwork like Mr. Bentley.”

  “You knew all that, but you didn’t stop me?”

  The witch, who had been shamelessly listening in, cackled.

  Neph produced a fist full of uncooked rice from his pocket and scattered it on the floor. The witch dove into the footwell trying to collect every single grain.

  “I told your people I would only step in if it was absolutely necessary.”

  Xavier couldn’t think of anyone he knew who was on friendly enough terms with Neph to make such a request. In fact, he didn’t even consider himself on friendly terms with Neph. He had no explanation for the protective older brother vibe he always got from the murderous scion.

  “Which one of my people asked you to do that?”

  Neph had a tone he used to warn you not to pry further. “The only one I trust.”

  “I’m surprised you trust anybody.”

  “So am I,” Neph admitted.

  Xavier made a mental note to discover the identity of his mysterious benefactor. “So, if I had come to you first, then all those dudes back there would still be alive?”

  “Nobody got murked back there. Diesel and ‘em are just paralyzed.”

  Xavier was stunned. “Real rap?”

  “Your people made me promise not to pop anybody who came looking for you this time.” He nodded down at the witch, who had her head under the seat trying to reach a grain of rice. “That’s why I brought her crazy ass instead of the hood special forces.”

  Xavier’s relief turned to dread. This time? He was processing the implication of Neph’s statement when his phone started buzzing.

  He answered it.

  “Are you in New York?” Carlos asked him.

  “No,” Xavier lied.

  “That’s funny because somebody just posted a Facebook video of an incident in Harlem that has a clip of a guy who looks exactly like you.”

  “I’m home watching Netflix.”

  “Well when you’re done doing that, tell Neph I said this is not Barranquilla.” Then he hung up.

  “Carlos said to tell you this is not Barranquilla.”

  Neph chuckled.

  “I didn’t know you dealt with Carlos like that. I thought you told me the DSO stays out of your way because they know the collateral damage wouldn’t be worth the benefit of coming at you?”

  “Back in the day,” Neph said, “one of the cartels out in Columbia thought they had the drop on me. They wanted to move in on Poppy who was shipping most of my weight. They killed my mom and cut the price of a brick in half to get the corner boys to re-up with them instead of me.

  So I went down there and handled my business. I murked everybody, including the goats and the chickens. I tied bodies to crucifixes with monstruo negro written on them in blood to leave the people too freaked out to work with the next Poppy who showed up to replace the one I had laid out. You gotta get in their heads. At this one jungle lab, I found the workers hiding behind this skinny young priest who tried to step to me with a Jesus piece. I just laughed and knocked him out the way. But he picked up his cross and followed me all around the woods saying exorcism prayers while I burned the whole spot to the ground. I asked him who he thought I was. He was like Diablo. I was going to pop him right there for being stupid, but then I started thinking about my mom and all the other things the Barranquilla Cartel had taken from me, like my rep in certain parts of the hood. Things I couldn’t get back, ‘na mean? So instead of popping him, I snatched up his scrawny ass and took him on a world tour of evil. I showed him stuff so sick he threw up, including the monsters in his own church. I showed him people getting murked while they prayed and told him nobody was listening. For the grand finale, I took him to go see the real Diablo.

  Satan looked down at Carlos and said, ‘You have taken this man’s faith.’

  I puffed up and said, ‘I guess I’m just like you, Daddy.’

  He laughed and said, ‘Is this the fire that drives my servant?’

  I said, ‘You talkin’ in riddles man!’

  Then he said, ‘I have never known your mother. Your father is Chadriel, a Cherub of the Seventh Choir.’

  My mind was like Nagasaki, dog. I tried to pop myself with my own gun, but each time I pulled the trigger the bullet came out as a red balloon with a picture of somebody I had murked printed on it. And the pictures could cry out loud. I kept pulling the trigger and the balloons kept coming out. After a while, I just threw the gun down and got ghost.”

  “What happened to Carlos?”

  “I don’t know, but three years later he came to my house without his collar screaming ¡Los tontos se apresuran donde los ángeles temen pisar! I slammed the door on his nut ass.”

  Xavier whipped his head around. That was the exact phrase he had seen on the awning outside of Patni.

  After a few blocks, Xavier asked, “Did you ever talk to your mom about your real dad?”

  “Every time she would just say I was a child of the Devil.”

  “She lied to you?”

  “No, you got it twisted. Whenever she said that, she was talkin’ ‘bout the sin she committed when she fornicated with Chad out of wedlock to make me.”

  “Wait, your mom was religious?”

  “She was comin’ from church when the Columbians popped her.”

  Everybody was silent after that, even the witch.

  * * *

  Neph’s driver parked at a curb in Tribeca. Yefet was standing on the corner looking like she had just stepped off a runway during Fashion Week.

  Xavier got out, which made room for Neph to slide over and roll down the window.

  “What’s up, Hotness,” he said to Yefet.

  She walked over to the vehicle, which Xavier now saw appeared as a green Range Rover with no sign of the frontend damage it had sustained in Harlem. They had a conversation in whispers that ended with a deep, extended kiss that answered Xavier’s question about who had gotten the killer to watch his back.

  After the kiss, Neph nodded at Xavier. “Early.”

  Then the vehicle pulled off.

  “Are you okay?” Yefet asked him.

  “I’m not hurt, but I don’t know if I’m okay.”

  “You didn’t make the world, so you can’t change it.”

  “I’m not sure which side I’m on.”

  “Let’s go inside,” she said.

  CHA
PTER THIRTY

  Xavier took in the lavish decor of the spacious loft.

  “This place must cost a fortune,” he told Yefet after she handed him a glass of Orangina and reclined on the other end of the sofa.

  “My bank accounts have been earning interest just as long as yours have.”

  “Listen,” he said. “I’ve literally been through Hell today. Can we just keep it real?”

  “Always.”

  “All the evidence I’ve ever come across about my childhood points to a civilization from thousands of years ago. Tell me who I am.”

  * * *

  An hour later he sat on the edge of her sofa trying to process the incredible things she had told him.

  “Stepping out of this River of Time is how we’re still alive today?”

  “Yes.”

  “And time accelerates whenever any of us have direct contact?”

  “It does.”

  “How much have I aged since I’ve been here?”

  “Probably five years.”

  “In an hour?”

  “That’s how it works.”

  “I appreciate you telling me all this instead of rushing me out the door.”

  “Neph told me what happened today. Being rushed out was the last thing you needed. A few years won’t kill us.”

  “What’s up with you and him?”

  “I’ll give you three guesses.”

  “Still?”

  “Not anymore. I’m with someone else now.”

  “I don’t get him.”

  “When he looks at you, he sees the man he could’ve been. The kind his mom prayed he would be. His masculinity would never let those words come out of his mouth, so he tells you in the way he knows how.”

  “And he let an amazing dime like you get away?”

  “That’s a much longer story than we have time for.”

  “Yeah, I have to get Uptown.”

  “Not like that you don’t,” she said, gesturing to his grime-covered clothes. “Turn the shower handle all the way to the right for hot water. There’s a change of clothes for you on the hook behind the door.”

  “A change of clothes? You know my size?”

  “Barneys has an app that can determine your size from a full body photo. I picked out something Zina will like.”

  He froze.

  “We’re keeping it real, remember? She’s performing at Madison Square Garden and I know you didn’t come all the way to New York just to break up dice games in Harlem.”

  “She means everything to me.”

  Yefet leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. “Then go show her, Little Brother. I’m going to go for a long walk. Lock the door when you leave.”

  “Will I see you again?”

  “I’ll be there when you need me. Until then, you can catch up with me in Norm City.”

  “Seriously?”

  “My clan won a double crown four years ago.”

  “What’s your handle? I’ll follow you.”

  “It’s a little scandalous,” she warned.

  “I won’t judge you.”

  “I’m Sascrotch69,” she said.

  He laughed harder than he had in ages.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Millions of fans around the globe knew the hazel-eyed, honey-skinned bombshell by her stage name Zina. But only one of them was welcome to show up unannounced inside her Manhattan hotel suite two days before the biggest date on her world tour.

  She was headed to the kitchenette for juice when she found him lounging on one of the fluffy sofas.

  “X!” she said with jubilation.

  “How much for a private show?” he asked.

  “For you? Two back rubs and a movie night.”

  “Where do I sign?” he asked, rising to his feet. “I’ll take ten.”

  She patted the front pockets of his jeans. “Usually when my crazy stalker fans break into my hotel room they bring me flowers and love letters. But you have the nerve to come up in here empty handed?” She put her hands on her hips and rolled her head sideways. “And don’t try to tell me that the gift is you because I’ve already opened that package.”

  He feigned anguish and chanted, “Now I ain’t saying she’s a gold digger...”

  She raised her arms and seductively gyrated toward him.

  “But she ain’t messing with no broke—”

  She put her index finger to his lips. “You know I’m just playing, Boo. Your fine ass can be my gift any day.”

  “What if I get old and fat and lose my hair?”

  “Then I’ll sing in your ear every night about how I don’t care as long as it’s still you inside.”

  “One hundred?”

  “One hundred.”

  He relaxed his shoulders and let every haunting thought of paralyzed thugs, lakes of fire and regrettable maternal decisions escape from his mind like an emotional release valve. Zina always had the effect on him.

  * * *

  They called the game Lose It or Love Jones. It was played by compiling a playlist of sensual songs that get listened to in random order. If a song is more about sex than love, both parties remove an item of clothing. If the opposite is true, both parties read at least one verse of spoken word poetry. The game ends when both parties are nude, or one party admits defeat. Admitting defeat grants the winner three intimate wishes the loser must fulfill.

  By the tenth song, they were down to their underwear. Xavier hit the forward button and got The Fire We Make by Alicia Keys and Maxwell.

  “Love Jones,” they said in unison.

  Although they had agreed that poetry written by others was legal, Xavier always wrote something original. He pulled off his tank top and then swiped to a file on his phone.

  He read this out loud:

  “A firestorm but blue

  simultaneously radiating and enveloping souls

  or rather, that which is beyond what is

  I waited, but nothing flashed before my eyes

  So I stood there on the precipice of the Ether

  thunderstruck that I could perceive nothingness

  as a stream of nectarous possibilities aborted by corporeality

  instead of the quotidian inverse of something

  when I saw you on The Other Side calling my name

  Your words reached me as violaceous rings

  of profound longing

  I whispered back and it came to you

  as a teal spindrift that tickled your nakedness in a hundred places

  I gave a reckoning of your loveliness,

  reluctantly abridged so that it fit inside a single contemplation

  and it manifested as a vermilion swell

  that rocked you into a state of volcanic readiness

  I shouted an elucidation of your intelligence

  and it exploded into existence as a crimson gale

  that spread your limitations wide, opening an

  aperture that I filled with enthusiastic support for anything

  you set out to accomplish.

  You told me to do that again.

  I did.

  Again, you commanded.

  I kept spilling forth facets of your beauty and genius

  until all you could sense in any direction were dazzling permutations of the Bermudan tranquility and Miami

  Swag that make you, you.”

  She clicked off his phone and straddled him. “You win. Again.”

  “You’ll get me next time.”

  “I have a confession,” she said.

  “Tell the truth and shame the Devil.”

  “I stacked the playlist to guarantee you would end up with no clothes on.”

  “See that. Somebody told me to watch out for girls from Miami.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “This ratchet THOT from Miami who couldn’t text me her number because her prepaid phone was out of minutes.”

  She burst out laughing.

  “I have a confession too,” he said.


  “What?”

  “Your playlist is public. I saw you changing it and I added some songs to make sure you would end up naked too.”

  She shook her head and smiled. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Maybe we should just skip the playlist next time,” he said.

  “No,” she said. “I love being the object of your poetry. It makes me feel special.”

  * * *

  Later that night, Xavier pushed open the door to the suite’s bedroom. Zina was in bed with her back to him.

  “There’s something I want to show you,” he said.

  “Again? You only get three wishes, Bae. I need a halftime break.”

  He took a breath and then shifted into his Anubian form. The candles burning on the nightstand made his body cast a new shadow on the wall in front of Zina.

  She spun.

  Her eyes widened, but she didn’t scream. She squirmed backward on her elbows until she was pressed against the headboard, an expression of terror on her face.

  He stood still, his arms flaccid at his sides and his eyes pointed at the floor.

  After her heart stopped trying to beat its way out of her chest, Zina gathered enough courage to step off the bed and approach the creature, which was much taller than Xavier. But it had his tattoos. When she was close enough, she saw that it had his eyes too.

  She had of course known about this part of him, but actually seeing it was both frightening and astonishing.

  Her hand quaked as she reached up and caressed the bristly black fur of his snout.

  “X?”

  The anatomy of his anubis’s tongue and throat made it difficult for him to speak, so he nodded his head.

  She ran her palms over the tattoos on his torso.

  He slowly lifted his right claw to show her that he was holding one of her lipstick vials from the bathroom counter. Then he used it to write It’s still me inside on her stomach.