Sister Mine

by Nalo Hopkinson

  Abby pulled one of her cards out of her handbag and handed it to Brie. “Come and rehearse with me tomorrow. After we all wake up, I mean. Damn, I could sleep for a week.”

  “Abs,” I said, “isn’t Lars your band lead for that gig?”

  “Sure, but Brie won’t be taking his place, or anything.”

  “They’ll still have to work together. That OK with you, Lars?”

  “Totally fine, ducks. Nice to be asked though, you know?”

  Abby shot me a curious look.

  Brie shook his head at the address on the card. “Guys, I don’t belong in someplace so high-toned.”

  Abby replied, “All the more reason to do it, don’t you think? Throw it in their faces.”

  Lars chuckled. “Too right.”

  “Jesus. OK, I’ll do it.”

  Abby clapped Brie on the shoulder. “Attaboy.” She had to reach up to do so.

  “But,” said Brie, “I’m going to want to rehearse all day every day between now and then.”

  I leaned over and stroked Dolly and grinned like a fool. They could do whatever they wanted. I had my mojo.

  7

  Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit?

  Must she no more such succous pasture find,

  Gone deaf and blind?

  HE REALLY WAS AWFUL in rehearsal,” said Abby. I had my cell phone open on my workbench. I didn’t even need to put her on speaker. Her voice over the cell phone always sounded as though she were standing right beside me. She probably didn’t even realize she was doing it. “Maybe I’m wrong about him,” she continued. “Maybe he does need supernatural aid in order to make music.”

  “Don’t worry, he’ll come through this evening.” I wasn’t really sure that he would, not without my haint working for him. But I didn’t need to stress about it. That was Brie’s problem; Brie’s and Abby’s.

  “I almost asked him not to perform tonight after all.”

  “Abs, that would probably have broken his heart.”

  “I’m not even sure how I came to invite him to gig with me.”

  “It made sense at the time, right?”

  “Yeah. You were there with your head in my lap, and it just felt right to make the offer.”

  “Then trust your instinct.”

  “Maybe. But I’d rather perform without him than crash and burn onstage because of him. I just didn’t want to make any trouble between the two of you.”

  “The two of who?” I asked, only half listening. I’d swivelled my chair over to where my laptop was on my worktable. I typed “kudzu” into the search engine.

  “You and Brie. You sounded pretty hot for him.”

  “I was. Not much feeling it nowadays, though. Dunno why not.”

  “Did you ever find out what he wanted to tell you the other night?”

  “Not yet. Seems like whenever I try to talk to him, he’s either about to leave to rehearse with you so he doesn’t have time or he’s just come back from rehearsal, so he’s too tired. It can wait. How’s Dad?” I was all shivery. I’d thought it’d be hot in my place, but I was always cold. I shrugged into the cardigan I’d hung over the back of my chair.

  “Dad’s climbed completely up the tall standing lamp in the living room. I’m not turning that lamp on, ’cause I don’t want to singe his leaves.”

  I winced at the thought of letting Dad get burned.

  “And I will never eat anything grape-flavoured ever again. The organic waste is overflowing with those giant blossoms. I’m living on allergy meds. Plus Dad’s almost covered his favourite armchair. I’m afraid that if Butter falls asleep anywhere in the living room, I’ll come home to find a cat-shaped lump covered in kudzu.”

  “All that in just a few days? Can’t you prune him back, or something?”

  “Truth is, I’m afraid of him.”

  “Yeah, well, imagine how I feel. I’m not going to come visiting for a while.”

  She sighed. “I suppose that makes sense.”

  I noticed something on the web page I was scrolling through. “Says here that the leaves make good pesto.”

  There was a shocked gasp from the other end, and then a yelp of laughter. “I am not making Pappy pesto for dinner!”

  “Dad would probably think that was hilarious. But I guess it’s time to let Uncle Jack know that we found him.”

  “Would you do that, Maka? Uncle kind of intimidates me.”

  “You?” I replied, astonished. “What in the world could intimidate you?”

  “Uncle Jack isn’t exactly in this world most of the time.”

  “Yeah, but you know what I mean. You’re the Family’s golden girl. You don’t have any reason to be scared of a single one of them. Well, maybe Hunter. But Dolly and I can keep you safe from him.”

  “They expect so much from me, even Uncle Jack. You can tell how much he hates it that I’m seeing Lars.”

  “He’s a fine one to talk, trying to hide the fact that he and our claypicken mom are an item. At least you’re not in the closet.”

  “They want me to prove that I deserve their favour. I’m supposed to be the compensation prize for Dad’s indiscretion. I’m the new celestial, the golden girl.”

  “Except for that little problem of your eventual death.”

  “Everyone on Dad’s side of the Family used to be mortal once, too. Maybe mortality’s curable.”

  “But they have to think you’re worth it, I guess.” Jealousy turned like a worm in my belly. I’d thought it was gone for good. But I knew our family would never see me and Dolly as anything but abomination.

  Abby replied, “The way they tell it, that’s not their decision. The Big Boss made them what they are. Hey; you’re getting really attached to that afghan, huh?”

  “I think I am. So long as my haint—my mojo, rather. Gods, doesn’t that sound good? My mojo. But so long as it stays in the afghan and doesn’t pop out as something nasty with too many teeth and hands that’s trying to climb down my throat, it and I are cool.”

  “But don’t you wonder what your mojo would be like if it were fully part of you?”

  “And how would I find that out? Ask Uncle Jack to operate on me again? No, thank you. Not after the back-alley mojo-ectomy he gave me and Dad the last time. No, I’m content like this. Now that I have Dolly, I can fly. I can fight off marauding kudzu daddies. And I’ll always have someone to sing me to sleep at night.”

  Her voice small, Abby said, “That used to be me.”

  “Don’t sweat it. You can harmonize with her sometimes, OK?”

  “I guess. There’s a tremble in your voice. You sick?”

  “I think I’m just coming down with a cold. No biggie.”

  “I’m heading for the Music Gallery in a minute. Should I wear the green velvet?”

  When Abs was jittery like this just before a performance, she had a hard time making small decisions. “No, it’s too warm out today. How about the tan linen pantsuit?”

  “That sounds good.”

  “All right, I’m gonna ring off. I’ll summon Uncle Jack and tell him we found Dad.”

  “You have the white rum?”

  “Come on, Abs! As if I’d forget. There was lots left over after we interred Dad’s body.”

  “True ’nough. Say hi to Uncle for me.”

  “Yup. See you in a bit.”

  Overproof white rum? Check. Matches? Check. Fire extinguisher? Check. I poured a shot or three of the white rum right onto the cement floor of my unit. It began spreading immediately. I bellowed, “Uncle Jack!”

  “Busy! Oo, you brought me a treat!”

  He hadn’t materialized, so I watched the puddle of white rum carefully. Yes, it was growing smaller. I lit a match and tossed it into the puddle. The rum burst into licking blue flames.

  “Ow! Ow! I was drinking that!” He was there, and he looked none too pleased. His suit jacket and shirt were open, exposing a very well-defined chest for such a skinny-ass being. His pants were at half-mast. He wasn’t
. But when your dad is pretty much the doctor for all living things (albeit currently without portfolio), and your uncle is the crown prince of sex, birth, and death, you pretty much couldn’t be embarrassed by such a piffling thing as the gallant response.

  Putting himself back together, Uncle grumbled, “I was busy, damn it!”

  “Yeah, so I just heard. You can get back to her later.”

  He grinned, of course. “Back to her? You know better than to make assumptions like that.”

  “I just figured you might be with Mom.”

  “No, but I’m going to see her”—I saw him put two and two together mid-sentence—“tomorrow. Or maybe last week. So you’ve been talking to your mother, have you? And you might want to put that flame out. There’s nothing about the future that can’t be changed by a foolish act in the present.”

  I used the extinguisher. Stinky, messy things. “What did you do with my mojo?”

  He glared back. “This is why you disturbed my assignation?”

  “Did I really interrupt you, though? Rumour has it that you can be in more than one place at the same time.”

  He smirked. “Yes, and to delightful effect, I might add.”

  “Gah. TMI, Uncle.”

  He got himself properly dressed. “Like I told you, you didn’t have mojo. There was no seed inside to grow. It was an empty lump of stuff. Offal. A flap of waste ectoplasm. I’m sorry, Niece, but that’s the way it was. Would you mind pouring me a fresh dram of that stuff? Thank you.”

  I did. He sucked it back like it was water. I said, “We found Dad. He’s at home. Abby’s home, I mean.”

  The brotherly joy that lit his face made him almost too bright to look at. “Boysie? He’s all right?”

  “He’s still riding Quashee.”

  It was as though someone had put the sun out. “Of course. Then he doesn’t have much longer.” He folded himself up and sat, dejectedly, on the floor. “Looks like Hunter’s got himself a new job.”

  I sat beside him. “I tried to let Dad have his mojo back.”

  Uncle went alert. “What do you mean?”

  “He attacked me and Abby. Pulled us down out of the sky into a park.”

  “Out of the sky, Makeda?”

  I was too busy trying to tell my tale of botched self-sacrifice. I didn’t notice at first how his tone had changed. “Yes. We were cruising on Dolly. Wee hours of the morning. Only a few people saw us.”

  Uncle looked around my room and spied Dolly, lying in her preferred place under my worktable. “Makeda,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “didn’t I tell you to stop using that thing?”

  “Well, sure you did. But you were all ‘nod nod wink wink’ about it, so I knew you didn’t mean it.”

  “I meant for you to use it once more, just so you could show it off to your sister. Not for you to go jaunting about on some malevolent piece of made thing and endangering Abby’s life into the bargain. I meant for you to stick it in a corner and leave it there until I came back for it.”

  “It’s not malevolent. It’s the house for my mojo. Besides, you didn’t come back for it.”

  “I’m busy, child. I was going to get around to it. And it’s the what for your what?”

  “Beji says. My haint; it’s my mojo, all grown up.”

  I told him about my haint leaving Brie and taking up residence in Dolly. He shook his head. “No, no! What in the seven perfect circles has gotten into you? Letting the Bejis fill your head with stories like that. They’re the reason that Boysie’s a haint in the first place! Setting his soul free without a body to house it; what were they thinking?”

  “Wait; Dad’s a haint? Like my haint?”

  “No, like a real haint. The thing that hounds you isn’t a ghost of anything. I would know if it were.” He gestured at the blue-painted ceiling. “This trick was never going to keep you safe from that monster. It just kept you from being paralyzed by terror all the time.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. “Holy fuck, Uncle. Is there anything you’ve ever told me the truth about?”

  He smiled sadly. “Believe it or not, most of it was the truth. Any lies I told you were the symptom, not the problem. I’m guilty of trying to cushion the blow of what your dad and I did to you. Now I see that it wasn’t a mercy. It’s only allowing you to delude yourself with fancies. Like this notion that you have mojo hiding somewhere, if only you can find it.”

  I scowled at him. “Yeah. Great. Makes me feel so much better. You were saying about Dad?”

  Sorrowfully, he replied, “Your father is currently a soul without a body. That’s a ghost, Makeda. A haint.”

  “Don’t say that! It’s like he’s dead.”

  “Not yet. But he will be if I can’t find a way to fix this.”

  “When he grabbed me and tried to tear me apart, I tried to let him do it.”

  Uncle Jack turned and took me in his arms. “Why would you do something like that?”

  “It’s Dad’s, and he’s important. He should have it back. I think he tried, but part of himself wouldn’t let him. Uncle, Beji said she had to grow herself a new cat body when her old one died. Couldn’t you grow Dad a replacement body?”

  “I can’t. Only he can do that for himself. I could give him a loaner, but it’s inconvenient. There’s always some part that’s not working, and he’d have to trade it in for a new one every few days. Else they draw flies. Don’t you go relaxing, little niece. I’m still pissed at you.” He held me away from him. “That rug has to go.”

  “But my mojo is in there!”

  “IT IS NOT!”

  The sheer force of his negation made the building shake. My glasses and tools clinked from the sound wave, and Dolly set up a resonant humming. Uncle Jack swung in the direction of the sound. He shuddered when he looked at Dolly.

  “So then what is my haint?”

  He shook his head. “For all I know, it’s a corrupted file. Probably damaged by your rug there.”

  “Before the rug existed?”

  “Sure, why not? Time’s not linear, no matter what your senses tell you.” He stood up and went over to my workbench.

  “Please, Uncle.”

  “No.” He bent over and reached towards the rug, then swore and pulled his hand back. His palm was smoking. He blew on it. “Makeda, what did you do? How did you give that thing its own firewall?”

  I looked at his hand in awe. “What could hurt you?” Truth was, I kinda felt good about it. Dolly could defend herself!

  “Nothing should be able to hurt me.” He glowered at Dolly. “This is bad.” He straightened up. His face was both sad and stern. “Nothing can be allowed to exist on this plane if it can defy death. It’s like a cancer. And if you’re right and a human’s using it sometimes, that’s infinitely more dangerous. Maka, honey, I’m sorry, but if I can’t destroy your creation, you have to do it.”

  “No, Uncle!”

  He crossed his arms. “Yes. You must. And this time I’m going to make sure it happens. I’m going to stay right here and watch you.”

  Uncle was implacable. His face stern, he perched on my bed and oversaw the whole thing. With my body, I hid the pair of scissors I was holding. I tailor-sat beside the rug. “Hey, sweetie.” I stroked it. Tears steamrollered down my cheeks.

  I looked at Uncle, hoping for a last-minute reprieve. He only raised an eyebrow and nodded at me to continue.

  The rug shifted uneasily to and fro. It could sense my distress, as a pet can. “Shh,” I said, “It’s OK, baby.” The slow passes of my hand along its uneven surface soothed both me and the rug. Slowly, I calmed. So did it. When it was relaxed, stretched out luxuriantly on the floor with its birds whittering in pleasure from the petting, I picked up the pair of scissors. In order to get at my mojo, I had to unmake it. I snipped an edge of the crochet. The rug jumped. The birds squawked in a painful range of frequencies. The clipped knot unravelled. The rug tried to get away, but I was holding it tightly. I pulled on the loose end of yarn, and more
of the rug came undone. One of the birds snapped at my hand. I hissed at the pain, but held on. The bird’s strike bruised two red triangles into the skin of my wrist. The rug jerked frantically at my hand. “I have to do this,” I sobbed. “I don’t have any choice.”

  At my words, it stopped struggling so hard. It had fought off the Dad-kudzu and zapped Uncle with a touch. It could easily have gotten the better of me. But like a dog being savaged by its own dear human, it submitted, and did its best to squash its own instincts to fight back. I yanked more and more of the yarn free. It was like pulling my own guts out of my belly. The rug lay on the floor, twitching. Its birds made gulpy, clucking sounds, like whimpers. Uncle was making similar noises. He wasn’t enjoying this. I didn’t care. He wasn’t suffering like Dolly was.

  The yarn went taut. I’d reached the rows where I’d affixed the birds, many of them with epoxy. To my horror, I realized I would have to cut around the places where the glue had welded the strands of yarn together. “Oh, gods.” I picked the scissors up again. When I dug the jaws of the scissors into the fabric, the birds screamed and the rug went stiff and flat as a piece of board. Then it slumped. I wailed, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” at it as I cut and tore its birds away. Each bird I removed went silent, then dulled immediately into a clumsily wired-together assemblage of artificial scraps. The part of the rug where the birds were too tiny to see was a subtle thickening that curved around the edge of the rug. I cut it away. Now there was no sound but my weeping. The quivering flap of material lying on the floor was the only thing left. Uncle said, “Finish it.”

  I picked it up and began doggedly picking the stitches out.

  When I was done, I was left with a crinkled pile of waste yarn scraps, and another of metal and glass junk, no more coherent than the refuse swept up off a metal shop floor every evening. Uncle sighed. “Thank you, my dear.”

  “Bite me.” My voice was hoarse.

  He sighed. “Time to go visit with my brother. And Makeda, since you’re determined to live here, you should know; that child I took across the border the other day? Fleet? She used to be in that Brie person’s band.”