“And you don’t see anything wrong with that?”
“Everything is wrong with that! But it’s the way things are, and unless you plan on overturning centuries of institutionalized oppression in the next decade, that’s the life we’re both going to lead. So while you’re only here playing around for a few more weeks, I’m here fighting for the rest of my life.”
And I know exactly what ey means.
I am quiet. I’d always seen Chiso and Chimwe as one. Yes, they were horrible to us, but I thought they were some united front. The hatred in Chimwe’s voice tells another tale. One of suffering and anguish and regrets for a future not yet lived.
It’s pathetic. And yet I know exactly how ey feels. The pain of loving someone with all your heart, and hating them to its bloody depths on the very same breath. “It’s exhausting.” The words slip from my lips.
“It is.” Chimwe picks the textbook back up, opens up to the page ey left off on, and continues the late-night cram session.
I wouldn’t say that we bonded over this like there’s some secret kinship between all lesser twins, but my hatred for Chimwe dims, and Chimwe seems less annoyed at my being here. I retreat to our adjoining bathroom and wash my face with cool water.
Tonight will be the first night that Kasim and I have ever slept apart. I wonder if he’s up, awake, thinking of me, or if he’s sound asleep, mind swimming with the delights of privilege. I wonder who will comfort him when he has night terrors.
I wonder who will comfort me.
I’m left with nothing but my own fantasies, wondering how things could have been—lamenting about how my life could have been—if I were born with six virtues instead of six vices. Would people look at me differently, treat me differently? Would I treat people differently? Would I live differently? Would I love differently?
My mind snaps to Ruda. I still feel that breathless moment where there’d been a spark between us, a connection that rose above vice and virtue, rose above rich and poor. But even if Icy Blue hadn’t ruined it all, it couldn’t have lasted. Better my heart broken now, than years from now, when her father refused us permission to marry. Ha. If she’d even wanted me for anything more than a plaything to begin with. Probably would have gone home and bragged to all of her little posh friends about how she’d fooled around with a comfy boy, and how it made her feel dirty in all the right ways. Then they’d all have a good laugh at my expense, and Ruda would move on with her life. Leaving me. Alone.
Perhaps tonight then, it will be she that comforts me, my plaything. I look in the full-length mirror hanging from the bathroom door. My bones go to dust, and suddenly Ruda stands there in the reflection, smiles at me, looks at me with those bright, innocent eyes she’d had from before Icy Blue . . . before I’d stolen that from her. She smacks those big, beautiful, unkissable lips, beckons me closer with a come hither, then peels up her school ciki, baring her deep navel, hints of ribs beneath her fleshy torso, and the ample swells of flesh peeking over her black lace bra. The ciki is discarded and she removes her bra, too. Ruda’s breasts fall free to gravity. My sense of self constricts, and the whole of her being envelopes me, and for a brief moment, I become her. Ruda’s nipples harden as she caresses herself. She continues to smile all the while, and mouths sweet nothings through the mirror. Then finally, her hand drifts over the slight pooch of her belly, disappears into her trousers.
I snap back to my senses from the momentary panic at what I find there, or rather what I don’t find there within my own hand. But the foreign folded flesh eagerly welcomes me just the same. Ruda unbuttons her fly, trousers hit the floor a second later. She explores. Cold tile floor at her back, warm everywhere else, and yet shivers consume her, again and again. Finally, I sit up, groggily. Delighted. Ruda sits up as well, but when I smile at her in the mirror, her reflection does not follow suit. She’s looking at me with those eyes I’d given her. Eyes full of mistrust, fear, disillusionment. I hate you, she mouths at me. I hate you for this.
My mouth puckers tight. She is not alone in that feeling. I hate feeling like this. I hate being like this. I wish for Icy Blue to speak to me. To laugh at how he’d tricked me into performing this violation. To goad me into doing more of his ill will. But he is silent now. His will is my will. He is me.
I shift, body again my own, and storm out of the bathroom.
“What were you doing in there?” Chimwe asks with a repulsed look. “Where are you going?”
I open the door, and run out into the hall. I hear em yelling something about curfew, but it’s inaudible over the rush of blood beating in my ears. Frustration and anger curl my nerves. I kill that night.
Every damned caracal on Grace Mountain.
I knock on Kasim’s door the next morning. It is a simple act, but at the same time, completely and absolutely foreign. Chiso answers the door, of course, and greets me with a smile that stops short of eir calculating eyes.
“Good morning, cousin,” ey says, then after a second thought, welcomes me in. “Rumor has it that you’ve cost your wing a total of six demerits. And you haven’t even been here a whole day. Perhaps it was my fault. I should have been clearer about the expectations at Kalukenzua House.” Chiso’s voice reminds me so much of our father’s, terse and condescending with a hint of self-satisfaction. “Curfew is at 10:30. No exceptions.”
I can’t afford to make enemies right now. I bite back my pride, and offer an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I’ll be more careful from now on.” More careful to slip out unnoticed.
“Your wing is who you should be apologizing to.” Ey looks me up and down. “And I probably need to mention this also, but Kalukenzua House is a place of chastity. As a mixgen house, it is something we take very seriously. Any act of sexual advance is grounds for expulsion.”
“Of course,” I say. It’s true there was a time, not long ago, when my lecherous side would have reveled in the temptations under this roof, but right now, my eyes desire nothing more than to stare at the beat of Chiso’s jugular. Thump thump. Thump thump. A song, sweeter than any serenade. My nerves twitch. The killings last night . . . they were not enough. The blood went down like water. Tasteless, flavorless. I am still hungry, and despite my anger at my brother, I promised to tell him if something changed within me. “I need to speak with Kasim. Is he around?”
“Up in a quiet room, where he’s been all night.”
“Which one?”
“The last room on the right. He’s pretty much set up camp in there, so I wouldn’t bother. I think he disabled the doorbell. You know how he gets when he doesn’t want to be disturbed.” Ey shrugs, speaking to me like ey knows my own brother better than I do. Chiso packs books into eir satchel, including the same one Chimwe was up all night with.
“Sorry for bothering you. I’ll let you get off to your test.”
“Test?” Chiso says.
“You and Chimwe are in the same class, aren’t you?” I squint at the title across the room. “Prehistoric Religion? Chimwe was cramming all night.”
“We don’t have a test. Chimwe’s just a bit . . . diligent with eir studies.”
Something else catches my attention. The author’s name, the same skeevy old bastard who wrote that prehistory book in the library. “Mane Mbanefo. Your professor actually lets you read that crap?”
“My professor wrote this ‘crap.’ Mbanefo is the most sought-after teacher at Gabadamosi. His knowledge of religion is second only to Gueye Okahim himself. In fact, he taught Gueye Okahim.” Chiso’s temper flares below the surface. Ey takes a moment to calm, then adds, “He knows everything, from Grace to Icy Blue and everything in between, so I’d appreciate it if you gave him the respect he deserves.”
Chiso doesn’t shut the door in my face, not literally, at least. But ey turns eir back and refuses to acknowledge me further. I take my leave, my feet leading me to Munashe’s office. If Chiso is right, and Mbanefo knows what he’s supposed to, perhaps he’ll be able to help. Munashe greets me with a guarded smile and mint tea on
her breath. The whole of her office smells of tropical fruit compote drizzled in warm syrup with a hint of disinfectant. My body buckles with hunger, and I grab the doorframe for support. As glad as I am to see her, I’ll have to make this visit quick.
“I was wondering if you could adjust my schedule so that I have Professor Mbanefo for Prehistoric Religions class?” I spurt out.
“Hello to you, too.” Munashe puts a hand on my arm and guides me to the chair in front of her desk. “Have a seat.” She then closes the door, and the sweet scent of her blood intensifies. I close my eyes, trying to dull my cravings, but behind my lids, my imagination surges forth, and images of her disemboweled body plague my thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about you,” she says. “Worrying. How is everything?”
I open my eyes, force a smile. “Could be better,” I squeak out through a mouthful of soured saliva. My sleeve catches the bits that escape past the corners of my mouth. “I think Professor Mbanefo might be able to help. Can you get me into his class? Please?”
“Prehistoric Religions. Let’s see . . .” Munashe shivers and takes a long moment to warm her hand on the sides of her Gabadamosi mug. The seconds creep by like eons, but finally she turns her back to me, and rustles through filed papers. Munashe then steps over to the map of campus hanging from her wall. She does a set of calculations with some sort of sliding ruler, then shakes her head. “Just as I feared. It’d put you on opposite sides of campus from Kasim, and you’d be out of proximity. Unless you’d both like to change schedules, then I could—”
“No,” I say from beside her. I’m so close she stumbles and drops her ruler. The pounding of her heart is too much for me. I grab her arm. My claws do not puncture flesh, but they come damned close.
“Auben,” Munashe says, voice quiet but firm. “I can see you are struggling, and I’m here to help. I’ve done some reading of my own. You need blood. Human blood?”
“You would let me feed upon you?” the voice from my throat is salty and deep. The pulse of her veins becomes a song in my mind, the lyrics simple. Feast, feast, feast . . .
Munashe snatches her arm from me. “Of course not!” Her sudden movement leaves scratches upon her skin. She swats me across my nose, which has apparently become muzzle. In those few moments of confusion between the blood blooming on her skin and me sinking my teeth into her flesh, she sets a lidded box in front of me and opens it.
The scent is so pungent, my vision goes white. By the time it’s cleared, she’s set four bags of blood in front of me. “You’re not the only one who can sneak into a morgue,” she says with a smirk. “Would you like some privacy?”
“Please,” I say, my voice trembling. “And thank you.”
She shuts the door behind her, locks it. It’s then I notice the changes to her office. The deep red rug on her floor. The stack of school uniforms on a shelf behind her desk, just my size. All of the paperwork and folders usually sprawled across her desk are neatly filed away. It’s like she expects to come back to a bloodbath. Like she thinks I’m some kind of beast. Well, I am some kind of beast, and worse than that even, but still it bites at my pride. She means well. And she’s the only one that understands me, and accepts me for who I am. I rifle through her desk drawer, find a pair of scissors and cut the edge from one of the bags. I dump Munashe’s tea into a mop bucket, then pour the contents of the bag into her mug, and sip.
Cold. Acrid. Foul. It tastes worse than the salted stew I’d sabotaged for Kasim, but it nourishes me, and anything is better than starving. Better than killing. Bit by bit, I am able to drink two and a half bags’ worth before my stomach starts to churn. I pack the remainders away in my satchel, right as there’s a soft knock at the door.
“It’s me,” Munashe says.
“Come in,” I say.
She surveys her office and looks relieved it is in the same condition as she left it. “Good?”
“Good enough,” I say. The pulsing of her blood now ranks third or fourth among my most pressing thoughts. She’s safe from me, for now.
“I was able to get you in Mbanefo’s Curiosities of Nature class. I know it isn’t exactly what you were looking for, but I hope it’s close enough.” She hands me a slip. Class starts in fifteen minutes.
“Thanks!” I snatch the paper from her, and kiss her on the cheek—an action that catches us both by surprise. Between her flushing and the taste of salt upon my lips, I need to put some serious distance between us. Now.
I cross the quad in a hurry, trying not to notice all the lean, tender bodies scampering around me like an oblivious herd of antelope.
“There he is!” someone shouts. Three students come running. They assemble in front of me, eyes wide. Breath short. Fresh scripted letters are tattooed onto their foreheads. ASS reads the three of them all together.
The middle S whistles, and three more come running: Phila, the backward K, the M, and Sesay, the I, carrying her stupid binder that must be half her weight. They’re multiplying. Despite their obvious fanaticism to my brother, they make little effort to arrange themselves in the proper order, and instead form the word KISSAM.
“You know Kasim is spelled with one S,” I say, shaking my head.
“We know that—” Phila says “—now. We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“You mean you’ve been looking for Kasim everywhere,” I say, trying to hurry things up. Five minutes until class.
“No, no. We know where Kasim is,” Phila says. “We always know where Kasim is. It’s you we’re looking for, Auben. We want to know everything. Start from the very beginning. What was it like having Kasim as your brother growing up? Was he always so amazing? So perfect? When did you realize he was special? How hard was it being raised in his perfect shadow? Did it make you want to be a better person? Did you ever wish you were just like him? Or did it make you realize your failures that much more? You are so blessed to have had him all this time. All to yourself. Don’t you feel blessed?”
“Very,” I mumble, with what I assume is the biggest eye roll in all of history. I brush past them, but they swarm behind me, sticking close like flies on shit.
“Is it true he can speak directly to Grace? It’s true, isn’t it? I heard about the defting sticks. Tell us everything, slowly, so Sesay can write it all down. And the incident at the Sanctuary? You were there, weren’t you? How big was the beast? What did it smell like? Was Kasim scared at all, or did he feel powerful and confident? What made him decide to take the risk to protect Gueye Okahim? Was he called into action by Grace?”
“What if he’s the embodiment of Grace Himself?” asks Sesay. She doesn’t look up from her frantic scribblings as all eyes turn on her in stunned silence.
“Sesay!” Phila says. “What if we’re wrong?”
“We’re not wrong.” She points to her tattooed forehead. “I wouldn’t have gotten this if there was even the smallest chance that we might be. I was there for the defting sticks. I was there at the Sanctuary. I felt that beast’s cold breath at the back of my neck. It was the breath of Icy Blue for sure, and only Grace would be able to best him, and make him look like a complete fool.” Her eyes rise and stick to me like she’s keen on the details of our Sanctuary performance.
“Kasim is not perfect. He is not Grace,” I say. “He’s got vices just like everyone else.”
“He’s got a vice. And I’m not sure it’s even his.” Sesay’s eyes narrow. “Tell us about your Discernment. Was it done by federal officers, or private?”
“Maybe it was done by your mom,” I jest. Yet even as I say it, I strain back, trying to remember the details of the day our vices and virtues were doled out to us. We were only five, so the memories are sparse and hazy as it is, but Mother had given us each a long sip of spirits to dull the pain, and I can only dredge up images of my small trembling hands reaching out for vice talisman after vice talisman.
Sesay flips the pages of her binder and retrieves a thin folder embossed with the Gabadamosi seal, like the ones in Munas
he’s office. She pulls out a stack of papers. “Private,” she says, reading from official-looking documents. “No federal officer would have dared with twins so young. Your test was conducted by Sall Iweala.”
“So?” I snap back.
“So, Iweala is a master wu mystic, imprisoned for falsifying test results fourteen years ago. Lesser twins, well-aware of the privilege/discrimination gap, would hire him to give their five-and-two children a four-and-three tempering, hoping that they’d be treated closer to equal.”
“Kasim and I are six-and-one, so that doesn’t even—” I blink. Unless we weren’t.
“His practice was expensive, costing thousands of djang. It was also imperfect, and the swapping of vice and virtue was incomplete, but not enough to raise suspicions. So you have a few charitable bones in your body. Kasim has been marred by your greed.”
“This is ridiculous,” I say. “Our mother was way too poor to afford anything like that!”
“And yet here you are at the most prestigious and expensive school in the Cape. If it was important to her, she would have found a way.” Sesay steps up to me. Challenging me. Tempting me. “I noticed you slipped out of the Sanctuary during prayer, Auben.” She says my name like it’s a question.
“Then maybe you should have been praying harder,” I snap back.
“What lies behind those eyes?” She cocks her neck so that the throb of her jugular falls into my view. “What cold darkness stirs in your heart?” Her blood calls to me, a whisper, a song, a symphony slightly off-key. There’s something about her blood that’s not quite right, but not wrong enough to stop my desire to spill it on the ground between us.
I ball my fists tight to keep my claws from erupting. It works, mostly. But it does nothing to quell the hate for her, and the hate of what I’ve become.
I grab Sesay’s binder, snap the thick spine in two. She’ll never know how close I’d been to snapping her spine instead. But not here, not now. Not when I’m so close to getting the answers I need. “There’s some charity for you,” I hiss, throwing her binder to the ground. And in her wan smile, I can see she understands exactly what I mean.
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