by Rena Barron
Eli snickered next to me as he looked down at his empty palm. His thumbs moved up and down in a tapping motion. Was he doing what I thought? He’d turned his phone invisible and was trolling Clara.
“Umm, anyway,” I said, clearing my throat. “We would’ve come with my father, but I was busy fixing a tear in the veil. You know, like, keeping everyone safe from the Lord of Shadows.”
Carla’s shoulders tensed as she glanced up again. “Right . . . sorry, did you say you were with your father?” Not waiting for me to answer, she waved her hand toward the metal detector. “Go on, then.”
I was ready for the burst of force that pulled us through the metal detector. It sent us careening midair across the white room, which was a gateway between our world and the gods’ realm. We stopped short of the giant doors and descended the three stories on an invisible elevator. My heart sped up, but I wasn’t going to back down now.
We stepped through the doors into the gods’ realm. It was like before—a place carved in outer space with no walls, no borders, except the endless stars. The orisha council sat on their thrones, looming in the chamber, larger than life. I would never get used to how majestic they appeared in their semidivine states.
“What a surprise that the three of you showed up without being summoned,” Nana Buruku said.
Eli waved at his grandmother, his cheeks red. “Hi, Nana.”
Nana was Mother Earth, and vines wriggled up the sides and back of her throne. Her white hair was braided in a ring around her head, and her skin glowed with light. To her left sat Shangó, aka Mr. Jenkins, Frankie’s favorite science teacher. Lightning crackled above his throne. No surprise that he was the orisha of thunder and lightning. Next to him sat Eshu, with his bushy white beard. A fire burned at the center of his eyes, rimmed by blue ice. Among the orishas, he represented balance.
Next to him was Ogun, aka Zane, our crossing guard at school, the god of metal and war, and his six-eyed dog, General. Both wore matching metal tags that seemed to absorb the light from the stars. Ogun’s face was unreadable as he stroked General’s back like he was in deep thought.
To the far right was Oshun, the orisha of beauty, aka Miss Mae, who owned the salon on Forty-Seventh Street. Today she wore a gold dress that looked like it had stars woven into the fabric. Her makeup, like always, was flawless. Her throne was gold with peacock feathers fanned across the back that cast off the perfect light for a selfie.
Orishas, godlings, and humans alike filled the bleachers across from the council. Their voices buzzed in the chamber as they argued with each other. From the sound of it, some of the human parents were pretty upset with their orisha family members. Mama and Papa sat on the bottom row, quiet. She smiled at me with sad eyes, and I wiped away a fresh batch of tears.
Frankie’s moms, Dee and Pam, sat next to them. Jayla played with the other small children on a floating jungle gym off to the side. Winston, who was sitting with his mom, rolled his eyes when he saw us. I wasn’t exactly happy to see him either.
Miss Lucille and Miss Ida had returned to their old selves and stood near the council. I recognized so many faces: Principal Ollie, Tay, Candace, Tisha Thomas, Eve Greyson. Some older godlings in their twenties and thirties were here, too. The clerk from the corner store. The ice cream truck driver. A cashier from the grocery store. The librarian.
“So the council summoned everyone except us?” I asked, biting back my annoyance.
“I voted against excluding you,” Shangó said, a fierce look in his eyes. “But some people on the council outvoted me.” He cut his eyes at Nana.
“These children have gone through enough,” Oshun interrupted, batting her long lashes. “They have already risked their lives to save the world once. We cannot ask more of them.”
“Truly, Oshun,” said the god of war, “if they had listened to this council the first time, we’d be at war already. We owe them our thanks and gratitude.”
The room had fallen quiet, and all eyes were on Frankie, Eli, and me. I ducked my head, feeling a little self-conscious. People usually didn’t pay much attention to us. It didn’t help that Eli couldn’t have a conversation without bringing up ghosts. Frankie always had to prove that she was the smartest person in the room. And I’d been called teacher’s pet for years because of after-school tutoring.
Eshu raised a hand to calm the bickering on the council. “They’re here now, so let the young guardian and her friends listen to what we have to say along with everyone else.”
Winston faked a cough. “Guardian of what? Giant turds?”
“Hush, boy,” his mom said. “Now isn’t the time for your smart mouth.”
Winston slumped his back against the bleachers behind him, looking plenty embarrassed. I pursed my lips to hold back a smile. Served him right for always being so awful.
“Well, then, sit,” Nana waved to the bleachers, her worried eyes darting to Eli’s face. “Eshu is right.”
We moved closer to our parents and found seats. I took in the celestials again, studying each of their faces and body language. Shangó kept staring daggers at Nana, but she ignored him. Ogun and Oshun glared at each other, their eyes brimming with anger. Even though the two weren’t speaking, I had a feeling they were arguing with each other inside their minds. Eshu was the only one who looked more tired than angry. He massaged his temples.
I’d settled down to listen to what the council had to say when little stars flooded my vision. The chamber seemed to tilt without warning. For a brief, terrifying moment, I thought I would slip off the bleachers and fall into space. It took me a few seconds to realize what was happening. I leaned against Mama and squeezed my eyes shut.
“A dizzy spell?” Mama asked, hugging an arm around me. Her sweet perfume stirred as she held me steady.
I nodded, sinking into a familiar place of warmth and security. But it didn’t feel quite the same, not while knowing the fragile nature of the veil and the enemies beyond it.
“Godlings, by now, you know the truth about who we are,” Nana said, addressing the crowd. Her voice had turned soft, and her eyes shone with sadness. “We hoped that you would live long, peaceful lives, never to know the suffering and wars of our past.”
Nana’s words jumbled in my head and echoed in my ears. I clenched my teeth, trying hard to concentrate. Mama squeezed me closer to her side, and I let the dizziness run its course. Nana recapped the events over the summer and told the new godlings about the Lord of Shadows and the Dark.
“What does any of this have to do with Winston?” his mom asked, interrupting Nana. “Or any of these children? The veil and this Lord of Shadows are your problem.” Several people mumbled in agreement.
“Destinee, the Lord of Shadows is everyone’s problem,” Eshu said, his voice gentle. “It will take all our efforts to defeat him again.”
“Wait a minute,” Destinee snapped. “You think that our children will help you fight this war? Have you lost your minds?”
“No one is asking the children to fight yet.” Ogun held up his hands in the placating way that adults sometimes did to get little kids to calm down. “We only ask that they start to train in case it comes to that.”
“I’m done with this conversation,” Destinee said as the fog finally cleared from my head and I opened my eyes again. She had gotten to her feet. “Winston isn’t training for nothing to do with this mess. We’re leaving.”
“So typical of you to be selfish and think about yourself first,” someone said from the top row. “You don’t get it. If the veil falls, the Lord of Shadows will come after all our children.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to, Cheryl?” Destinee whipped around to face the woman who had spoken. “Winston, hold my purse.”
“Enough!” Nana said, her voice shaking the chamber. “Those who feel the same as Destinee can leave now. We do not have the time or patience to convince you of the danger. You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
When Winston got up to leave with his m
om, he glanced back at his friends, who still sat on the bleachers. He looked like he wanted to ask them to come with him, but he said nothing as he and his mom stormed toward the exit. Several other families followed them.
“You will do well to remember and keep your oath to this council,” said Oshun, her voice too sweet to be genuine. “Whether or not you choose to help fight this war, you are bound not to reveal your magic to the human world.”
Okay, this council meeting had gone all wrong. Half of the godlings had walked out with their parents. No one could blame them for being scared. This was a lot to learn in one day—I remembered how hard it had been on me. But we needed all the help we could get to keep the Lord of Shadows out of our world.
“For those of you left, I’ll be leading daily after-school training to help you master your new powers,” Ogun said. “It’s better to be prepared than pretend the threat doesn’t exist.”
“What about Papa’s soul?” I asked, tapping my foot to calm my nerves.
“You’re not going back into the Dark if that’s what you’re thinking,” Mama said, crossing her arms. Her voice was shaking. “Even if it means . . .” She looked up at Papa, who stroked her cheek. “There has to be another way.”
“The other celestials will be here soon, and then we’ll go ourselves,” Nana said. “We cannot make a move until we are at full strength.”
“That’s in like . . . three months,” I argued. “A lot can happen in that time.”
“Maya,” Papa said, his face pinched. “A few months is nothing in the life of a celestial, as there are other gods of this world, so celestial would include them. I agree with the council that we will wait for the others to arrive.”
“Well, I . . . I petition the council as the guardian of the veil in training to let me go back to the Dark and save your soul.” I swallowed hard.
Ogun cast an apologetic look at my parents. “The child has petitioned the council on her own, and under our rules, we must hear her out.”
Oshun smiled down at us, and I felt like a worm on a petri dish about to be dissected. “We cannot hear a petition from you unless you pledge your allegiance to the council.”
There it was—just like Obatala warned me.
My heart was beating fast. “We won’t pledge.”
Nana waved her hand dismissively. “In that case, you cannot petition this council.”
“Oh, come now, Nana,” Shangó said. “There is no such rule that forbids those who have not pledged from bringing forth a petition.”
“I agree,” Ogun added his voice. “We must consider the young guardian’s request.”
“Fine,” Nana said. “On the petition to allow Maya, Frankie, and Eli go into the Dark to rescue Elegguá’s soul, how does this council vote?”
Oshun quirked a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Against.”
“Also against.” Nana shook her head at Eli, her mouth set in a hard line.
“For,” Ogun said in his fierce voice.
“Also for,” chimed in Shangó.
That left Eshu. He looked to Papa, then to me. “This is a hard decision . . . but I can’t with good conscience send children on a dangerous mission. I vote against.”
Their votes echoed in my mind. I couldn’t believe it. How could they stand by and do nothing again? They knew what was at stake. We had to get Papa’s soul back, and we didn’t have time to waste sitting here talking.
“Elegguá, if you die, will the veil disappear?” someone asked from the bleachers.
“He’s not going to die!” I yelled, silencing the chatter. “I’m not going to let him.”
“I thought that you’d say that,” Nana said. “We’ll be watching to make sure that you don’t go against our wishes. Be sure of that.”
That sounded like a threat to me.
ELEVEN
I get an unwelcome visitor
After the disaster in the gods’ realm, I headed home with Mama and Papa. Mama only had time to change for work and grab her stethoscope before she left for the hospital. Papa and I had dinner in front of the TV, neither of us saying anything. The surround-sound speakers boomed against the living room walls and made me jumpy.
I pushed around peas on my plate that had long gone cold. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Miss Ida said in the Time Out room.
“Papa.” I looked up from my plate. “Are you afraid that I will make a mistake, too?”
“Of course not, Maya,” he said. “I know it may seem that the council is harsh, especially Nana and Oshun, but they have the best intentions at heart. No one in their right mind is okay with sending children to face the Lord of Shadows.”
I bit my lip, realizing that he thought I was talking about the orisha council. “No, I meant after what happened with Eleni. Miss Ida told me that she let the Lord of Shadows into our world.”
Papa winced, like me mentioning Eleni gave him physical pain. He set his plate aside. He never talked about his other family. Once I died, would he avoid talking about me too? It hurt to think that he’d have another family after Mama and I were long gone. “You never talk about her or the others.”
“Maya,” he said, his voice cracking like eggshells. His shoulders hunched over as he inhaled a sharp breath. “Not one day goes by that I don’t think about them. Sometimes the pain is bearable, and sometimes it’s as sharp as a knife. No parent should ever have to lose their children.”
Papa picked up the remote and turned off the TV. The steady ticking of the grandfather clock filled the room. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. It seemed to be counting down to some unknowable future. Could I save my father’s soul? Could we stop the veil from failing? Could we prevent a war?
“Tell me about them, Papa,” I said, imagining what it would be like to have siblings. I thought about Eli and Jayla, how he adored her and she adored him.
Papa smiled as I put my plate down and tucked my legs underneath me. “I met Lutanga on the edge of an aziza settlement near a river. She was fetching water for her village, and I’d just finished fixing a tear in the veil.”
“Tears happened even back then?” I asked. “A thousand years ago?”
“A few here and there.” Papa shrugged. “Nothing like what we started to see after the second war.” Papa continued his story. “I hadn’t expected her to talk to me. The aziza are wary of outsiders, even us celestials, but Lutanga was curious. Fast-forward a few years, we got married against the wishes of her family. They said that I would cause her nothing but trouble . . .” Papa’s voice trailed off, and he took a long time to work his way up to talking again.
“Kimala was our oldest,” he said, skipping ahead. “She was the spitting image of her mother, with a singing voice that would put Mariah Carey to shame.” Papa laughed at that, and I laughed too. It was good to see him smiling again. “Eleni was a year older than you and the only one of the three who inherited my connection with the veil. Genu was my little one. He was only four years old when it happened. I can still remember his infectious laughter.”
“How did the Lord of Shadows trick Eleni?” A shiver climbed up my back as I thought about the first time the Lord of Shadows appeared to me on the crossroads. He’d sucked the color out of our neighborhood—turning everything ash gray. “Was it through the crossroads?”
“Yes,” Papa said, his voice hoarse. “I learned much too late that he’d been pretending to be her friend, visiting her in what she thought were dreams.” Papa blew out a shaky breath. “She was training to be a guardian of the veil, too. She was smart, Maya, like you, but he disguised himself. He pretended to be in trouble so she would help him.”
“How could she believe that creep?” I asked, shaking my head. He didn’t strike me as someone who could even pretend not to be shady.
“Maya, the Lord of Shadows is full of tricks,” Papa said. “If he were so easy to stop, we wouldn’t be in our current situation. He is much too powerful and clever. Never underestimate him.”
“I won’t, Papa,” I promised, bu
t I worried that I already had. The Lord of Shadows always seemed to be two steps ahead of us.
Later that night, when I was getting ready for bed, I thought about everything Papa told me. His eyes had lit up when he talked about Eleni, Kimala, and Genu, and I wished that I could’ve known them. I didn’t blame Eleni for what happened with the Lord of Shadows. Imagine someone abusing their power and authority to do something so horrible. That was what the Lord of Shadows had done when he tricked her. I had to find a way to outsmart him.
It took me a long time to fall asleep, and when I finally did, I slipped into a dream. Frankie, Eli, and I were on our way to school. It was a sunny day, and the birds chirped in the trees. Some of the players from the Jaguars dribbled a soccer ball down the middle of the street.
“Think of all the benefits of cloning,” Eli said, excited. “I could pull pranks at school and send my clone to detention in my place. They could take my semester exams and volunteer for bingo night sometimes.”
“What if one of your clones decides that he wants to replace you?” Frankie asked. “No one would ever know the difference.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take to get out of chores,” Eli said, shrugging.
We passed the abandoned house on Forty-Ninth Street. It sat far off the sidewalk behind a rusty fence and tall grass. The fence squeaked in the wind, and a sign against the door covered in vines read WELCOME. The word was hard to make out under the grime and chipped paint.
Frankie and Eli kept walking, but I stopped in front of the house, feeling a cold breeze biting my skin. A long creaking sound filled the air as the door slowly opened. It was completely pitch-black inside, like the bottom of a deep pool that never got any sunlight. The darkness poured out of the door, seeping across the porch. It inched along the ground, drawing closer to the sidewalk. As I watched it ooze toward us, I could sense that something had changed in the dream. The darkness stopped at the fence.
“I’m dreaming, not on the crossroads,” I said, not entirely convinced. Was I dreaming?
