Black Panther

by Ronald L. Smith

  “I don’t know why you dragged me to this,” Zeke complained.

  “Well,” Sheila said, “I like basketball. Wildcat spirit, you know?”

  Zeke shrugged.

  “Thanks for coming,” T’Challa said. “Both of you. I didn’t want to come by myself.”

  “You owe me,” Zeke said, and then took a book out of his backpack.

  Tweeeetttt!

  The game started to thunderous applause. The Razors, an opposing team from a school downstate, took to the court in a frenzy. T’Challa spotted M’Baku in the Wildcats lineup.

  T’Challa followed the game with interest, and he definitely saw the skill involved. It seemed that M’Baku was at the center of every big play, from three-point shots to stealing the ball. At halftime, T’Challa watched in fascination as a student in a Wildcat costume jumped around like a maniac.

  “Is it over yet?” Zeke asked, looking up from his book.

  “This is the last period,” Sheila told him. “Score is tied.”

  “Fascinating,” Zeke replied, and then went back to his book.

  T’Challa watched the dynamics between M’Baku and Gemini Jones. They were on the same wavelength when it came to playing, and seemed to anticipate each other’s thoughts. The play flowed seamlessly between them. T’Challa felt a twinge of resentment.

  Was he jealous? Was that what this was all about?

  No, he told himself. He just didn’t like Gemini Jones—didn’t like the way he approached him when they first met, didn’t like the way he demanded to arm-wrestle, and definitely didn’t like the way he destroyed his robot.

  “Uh-oh,” Sheila said. “Just a minute left.”

  The crowd in the gym leaned forward on the bleachers. T’Challa looked up at the scoreboard: Wildcats 98, Razors 99.

  “Only ten seconds left!” Sheila exclaimed.

  The roar rose to a fever pitch. A chant of “Wildcats! Wildcats!” rang in T’Challa’s ears. Drumming feet on the bleachers shook the whole gym.

  The ball was passed to M’Baku. T’Challa felt his heart in his chest. It was exciting.

  M’Baku drove down the court. He spun, just like that time in gym class. He shot and—

  Swish!

  —scored the winning point.

  Students rushed onto the court screaming and shouting. The team was mobbed. M’Baku pumped his fist in the air. Sweat rolled off him in waves. A group of players lifted him up. “Marcus! Marcus!” they chanted as they paraded him around the court. “Marcus! Marcus!” M’Baku’s smile was brighter than T’Challa had ever seen it. He was basking in the moment, the center of attention, just like he always wanted. The opposing players took to the sidelines, defeated.

  “Wow,” Sheila said. “That was some game.”

  “Yeah,” T’Challa said. “It was.”

  T’Challa, Sheila, and Zeke stepped down from the bleachers. The Wildcats trooped through on their way to the lockers, receiving high fives and congratulations from students and teachers alike. T’Challa spotted M’Baku and took a deep breath. “That was a good game,” he said. “Nice shot at the end there.”

  “Thanks, man,” M’Baku replied. “I was just like Michael Jordan!”

  “Yo, Marcus.” Gemini Jones jogged up behind M’Baku and clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re all going for pizza. Coach’s treat.” He finally looked at T’Challa. “Team only.”

  T’Challa smirked.

  M’Baku nodded. “Catch ya later, T.,” he said, and continued on to the lockers.

  Gemini glanced back at T’Challa when he and M’Baku were a few steps away. “Yeah,” he piped sarcastically, “later, T.”

  T’Challa stood on the sidelines and watched his friend disappear into the crush of players and fans.

  T’Challa and his friends filed out of the gym and headed for the exit. A blast of cold air greeted him as Zeke opened the door. They stood in the parking lot and watched teachers and parents get into cars to head home. The black asphalt glittered under the tall lampposts spread throughout the lot.

  “It’s still early,” Sheila said. “I’m hungry. Anybody up for pizza?”

  A short walk later, they found a pizza shop in Hyde Park, one of the South Side’s bigger neighborhoods. T’Challa ordered a slice of deep-dish topped with peppers, mushrooms, and pepperoni. Sheila had a garden salad while Zeke ate a cheesesteak. T’Challa bit into his slice. If M’Baku can go out with his new friends, he thought, so can I.

  “I was thinking,” Sheila started. “Those things in the school. Those Devil’s Traps.”

  T’Challa swallowed. “What about them?”

  “It’s just all so weird,” Sheila said. “The traps, Gemini’s trick.”

  “Maybe they’re connected,” Zeke said. “It’d be just like him to summon a demon.”

  “One problem,” Sheila said.

  “What?” Zeke asked.

  Sheila speared a cherry tomato with her fork. “Demons aren’t real.”

  T’Challa’s thoughts drifted as he took the bus home. Maybe Gemini was some sort of warlock, and he was using a spell to lure M’Baku away. But to what purpose?

  T’Challa got off the bus a block early and walked back to the embassy. The cold wind stung the tips of his ears. He passed a shop with sports gear in the window. Lifelike mannequins stood frozen in their basketball jerseys and baseball caps.

  A dark shadow ahead of him slipped into an alley.

  T’Challa thought he caught a glimpse of a beret—or was he just seeing things? Was it the man again? The one he was sure was following him?

  He took a few short steps and stood at the mouth of the alley.

  There was no one there, just the silhouette of a rat, scrabbling between piles of trash.

  T’Challa slid his key card through the embassy room door and stepped inside.

  M’Baku looked up from an open suitcase, stuffed with clothes.

  T’Challa stood there, mouth hanging open. “M’Baku, what are you doing?”

  M’Baku threw a basketball jersey into the suitcase. “I’m gonna stay with Gemini and his dad for a while. I need to get out of here. See more of the city.”

  T’Challa walked in and closed the door behind him. He sat down on his bed. “Do you really think that’s smart? If your father found—”

  “But he won’t, will he?” M’Baku cut him off. “Unless someone happens to tell him.”

  T’Challa sighed. What could he do? He couldn’t force him to stay, and if he told his father, M’Baku would get in even more trouble.

  “M’Baku,” he started. “Look, I know you want—”

  “I’m tired of living in your shadow, T’Challa.”

  The words struck T’Challa like arrows.

  M’Baku moved the clothes around in his suitcase without really organizing anything. “Ever since we were little, I’ve always been second fiddle.” He raised his arms in a grand gesture. “Friend to the mighty prince. Well, it’s time I made my own way, and I’m gonna do it here. In Chicago.”

  T’Challa was stunned. He shook his head. “What do you mean?”

  M’Baku shrugged. “I don’t know.” He zipped up the suitcase and pulled it off the bed. “Maybe I’ll stay here instead of going back to Wakanda. Gemini said his dad could help me out for a while. Maybe I’ll get a basketball scholarship, you know? Join the pros.”

  “I don’t think it’s that easy,” T’Challa said.

  “See,” M’Baku said with a grim smile. “There you go. Thinking I’m not as good as you.”

  “I didn’t mean it like—”

  “Whatever,” M’Baku said, grabbing his jacket.

  “What’s Gemini up to?” T’Challa asked quickly, before the chance was gone. “Those skull rings? What’s that all about? Do you know anything about those weird nest things?”

  M’Baku pulled up the handle of his suitcase with a click. “No,” he said, and made his way to the door.

  “M’Baku, don’t,” T’Challa urged him.

&n
bsp; But M’Baku opened the door, and, without looking back, wheeled his suitcase out.

  The glow from the Chicago skyline peeked through the closed curtains. T’Challa lay in bed, thinking.

  It felt weird without M’Baku in the room.

  Why would his friend just up and leave?

  I should call Father, he thought. Tell him what’s going on.

  No. I need to figure this out on my own.

  Whatever’s going on with M’Baku is between the two of us.

  The next school day passed quickly, but T’Challa was distracted. He was thinking of M’Baku, Gemini, and the Devil’s Trap. What were they really for? His search said that they were used to capture spirits—or summon them.

  Were there spirits or demons in the school? Or was there some other purpose to them?

  All of these thoughts swirled around in his brain until the last bell rang and he met up with his friends. “I have to tell you something,” T’Challa started, as they made their way to the bus. “It’s about Marcus.”

  Sheila and Zeke looked at him with curious faces.

  “What did he do?” Zeke asked.

  T’Challa hesitated. “He, um, left the host family we’ve been staying with. He didn’t get along with them, so he said he’s going to stay with Gemini Jones and his dad.”

  “What?” Sheila said. “That’s nuts.”

  “I know,” T’Challa agreed. “Gemini’s been influencing him somehow. Ever since they started playing basketball together, he’s changed. I know Gemini’s up to something. I can feel it.”

  “Maybe he really is a warlock,” Zeke said.

  A moment of silence fell. Sheila narrowed her eyes, considering.

  T’Challa paused. Is that possible?

  There were plenty of Wakandan ghost stories and tales of terrible monsters, but they were all just imaginary. Weren’t they?

  “You know the woods behind the school?” Zeke asked.

  “Yeah,” Sheila replied.

  “Well, every Wednesday, I see Gemini, Deshawn, Bicep, and some other people headed back that way.”

  “Maybe they’ve got some kind of secret club that meets back there,” said T’Challa.

  “Only one way to find out,” Sheila added.

  That night, before meeting up with Zeke and Sheila, T’Challa sat on the bed in his room. He ran his hand through his hair. He looked at his watch.

  I need to tell Father about M’Baku.

  Wait, another voice in his head advised him. Give M’Baku a little time. He’ll come to his senses.

  But he really wasn’t sure about that at all.

  He got up and walked to the safe. He wanted to see his suit for some reason, a reminder of home. The Panther suit was in there, along with the ring. He opened the safe and slipped the ring on his finger. I shouldn’t wear it, he thought, and placed it back in the box. He ran his fingers along the silky black suit. He grasped it between his hands and pulled as hard as he could. The fabric stretched but did not tear or offer any resistance. Well, he thought, I can at least try it on.

  It only took him a minute to get out of his school clothes and slip into the suit. An unfamiliar figure stared back at him through the mirror.

  He was in form-fitting black, and shadows rippled along the fabric when he moved. There was a weave in the cloth he hadn’t noticed before, like a small honeycomb mesh pattern. The mask covered his eyes.

  His father’s suit was equipped with boots, but T’Challa didn’t have those. He also didn’t have the ceremonial claw necklace to wear around his neck. But still, he looked pretty intimidating. His father said the suit was infused with Vibranium, the energy-absorbing material that was so highly valued around the world. T’Challa spun on his foot and struck a pose, his hands clenched into fists. His body felt lighter. Quicker. He jumped.

  Crash!

  He uncrumpled himself from the floor.

  He had hit the ceiling.

  It was the kinetic energy—absorbing and bouncing back.

  He rubbed his head and decided to put the suit back into its box.

  For now, he thought.

  At 7:00 p.m., T’Challa slipped out of the embassy to meet up with Zeke and Sheila. A dark forest loomed behind the chain-link fence that bordered the football field.

  “Remind me why we’re doing this in the dark again?” Sheila asked.

  “Because it’s a secret mission,” Zeke replied, slinging off his backpack. “We don’t want to be seen.”

  T’Challa thought of his suit again and wondered if he should have put it on. But he was only going into the woods, he reminded himself. His father said not to wear it unless it was an emergency. This wasn’t an emergency, just curiosity that had gotten the better of him. And he surely couldn’t wear it in front of Zeke and Sheila.

  Zeke reached into his backpack and took out a flashlight, then turned on the switch. There was no light.

  “Great,” Sheila said.

  Zeke tapped the flashlight against his palm a few times until the light flickered and remained steady. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

  “Are you sure about this?” T’Challa asked Zeke.

  “I may be a geek,” Zeke replied, “but no one ever said I was a scaredy-cat.”

  Sheila smiled. “Me too,” she said, looking into the woods.

  Zeke tapped the flashlight, which had gone out again.

  “You know they have phones that have flashlights now,” Sheila said. “You know. Smartphones?”

  “I’m old-school,” Zeke said. “Plus, who ever had a secret mission in the dark without a flashlight?”

  T’Challa wrapped his coat around him a little more snugly as he walked. It was cold, and his toes felt numb in his boots. Zeke shone the flashlight along the ground, but there was enough moonlight to see by. Crickets and little night creatures stirred in the underbrush. It didn’t bother T’Challa. He was used to wildlife and the forest, having grown up in a place that praised nature and the wild things in the world. He was reminded of the exploring he and M’Baku used to do when they were little.

  T’Challa looked up at the moon, obscured by fast-moving clouds. Perhaps his father was looking at that same moon now, back home in Wakanda. The memory made him recall the walks they took together, and how he learned of his grandfather, King Azzuri the Wise. He had listened with wide eyes as his father told him fantastical stories of Captain America and Sgt. Fury and his Howling Commandos. Maybe, T’Challa thought, he’d meet some of those great heroes one day.

  They stepped out of the denser woods into an open area. A broken-down house stood in front of them. It looked to T’Challa like the whole thing could collapse at any minute. The shutters were splintered and hanging off, the remains of a crumbled chimney had caved in, and the windows were shattered.

  “Why would someone build a house in the middle of the woods?” Sheila asked.

  “More like a hunter’s cabin or something,” Zeke said.

  “But we’re still in the city,” said Sheila. “You probably can’t hunt in the city limits.”

  T’Challa took in his surroundings. Blackened tree branches and burnt tin cans were littered all around. “Whatever the reason,” he said quietly, “it looks like it’s been abandoned for years.”

  “What a dump,” Zeke said.

  “C’mon,” T’Challa said. “I want to see what’s inside.”

  Zeke and Sheila both swallowed at the same time.

  T’Challa led the way as they entered through the space where a door once stood. Old furniture, fast-food wrappers, and newspapers littered the floor. T’Challa thought he saw a mouse scuttling in the heaps of trash.

  They walked quietly, and Zeke kept the flashlight pointed at the ground in front of them. Rooms were on either side, some with doors and some without. As they passed one room, Zeke flashed the light and T’Challa saw discarded furniture, several boxes of trash, and a bunch of car parts scattered on a tarp on the floor.

  T’Challa suddenly paused. He held up
a fist. Zeke and Sheila froze behind him. “You hear that?” he whispered.

  “Hear what?” Sheila asked.

  T’Challa looked from left to right. “Voices,” he said, and then pointed a finger straight ahead, where the darkness seemed to fade into light, just by a few degrees. “C’mon,” he said. “Quietly.”

  T’Challa felt a sense of dread as they began to walk again. The house wasn’t right. It felt bad to him, as if something terrible had happened here. Or, he thought, was about to. Right before they reached the end of the hall, T’Challa brought them to a halt.

  “Now I hear the voices,” Zeke said.

  “Me too,” Sheila added.

  T’Challa followed the muffled sound. “In this room,” he whispered.

  The three of them stepped quietly inside a room to their right. Broken pieces of lumber were under their feet. The one window in the room let in moonlight, which spilled along the ruined floor. “Turn off the flashlight!” T’Challa whisper-shouted.

  Zeke immediately turned it off.

  Darkness.

  T’Challa knelt and put an eye up to one of the many broken patches in the wall. Zeke and Sheila did the same.

  T’Challa gasped.

  In the room ahead of him, through the broken slat of wood, several small figures formed a circle around a tree stump set with candles. They were kids, T’Challa realized. They had to be. They were all blindfolded. Orange flames flickered in the dark.

  “What the—?” Zeke started.

  “Shh!” Sheila said through closed teeth.

  The kids stood like sheep herded into a pen. Several others wearing all black surrounded them. Three Devil’s Traps were placed on the floor, forming a triangle. A shadowy figure emerged from a deeper shade of black.

  T’Challa knew that silhouette. It was taller than anyone else.

  Gemini Jones.

  He took a walk around the group, displaying that same cocky arrogance T’Challa had seen before. Finally, he paused and took a deep breath. “To become part of our order,” he began, “you must swear your life to the Skulls.”