A Phoenix First Must Burn

by A Phoenix First Must Burn (retail) (epub)

  Focus.

  Simone’s house is a lot like yours: cleanly but cheaply built, creaking with age. You reach the room at the end of the hallway, and you can tell it’s hers by the decorative S hanging on the door. Inside, the walls are black, the floor littered with skinny jeans and blouses, the desk cluttered with makeup and hair supplies. A poster of the Paris skyline hangs over her bed. You feel as if you’re intruding. Probably you are.

  “Sorry it’s such a mess. I had no idea you were coming,” she says, closing the door behind you. Her smile’s gone. She crosses her arms. “You want to tell me what this was about?”

  What the fuck were you thinking?

  You wet your lips, pull out your phone. “It’s, uh, it’s kind of hard to explain. But I didn’t know who else to go to. I think the Contaminant did something to me, and I figured you might be able to answer my questions because your dad . . . you know . . .”

  You give up, show her the video. She sits down on her bed to watch it, gesturing for you to join her. You do, sinking into the mattress, practically sliding into her. Your legs are touching. The smell of her hair conditioner makes your head spin.

  Simone doesn’t speak as she watches. She furrows her brow just like her father. You bounce your knee, not sure what to do with yourself while you wait, then stop. You don’t want to piss her off.

  “You don’t have to watch the whole thing,” you say finally, your face warming. “There’s a lot of videos, and they get pretty long, but . . . it’s wild, right? It has to be the Contaminant.”

  She hands the phone back, shaking her head slowly. “You’re fucking with me. You made this with a video editor or something.”

  “No, swear to God,” you say desperately. “The Contami-nant messes with people on a genetic level, right? That’s what makes it so dangerous, especially long-term. So could it cause something like this?”

  “If you’re worried about the water, you should go to a doctor.” Simone raises a brow. “The way you’re talking, maybe you should anyway.”

  “The doctors don’t know much more than we do. You know that. You live . . .” You stop yourself. “I just thought maybe, since your dad works at the lab . . .”

  Simone’s expression softens. “He’s trying to help. That’s the only reason he’s still there. He and some of the other scientists knew about the Contaminant long before the rest of the world did, but it was nearly impossible for them to get the story out. You can’t just show there’s pollution in the river—you have to prove it’s hurting people.”

  “But it is.” You think of the houses on your street that have been abandoned, the neighbors you’ve watched grow sick, the protests that gather outside City Hall every Sunday, smaller and smaller as people move away or pass away or simply give up.

  Simone looks at you knowingly. “You have to prove it’s hurting people they care about.”

  You sigh. Right.

  “It’s not even just indifference,” she goes on. “It’s worse than that. It’s like they see this as a good thing.” She laughs a little hollowly. “I’m sure they wouldn’t think so if they’d realized they were arming Black kids with these kinds of abilities, though. That might get them to stop.”

  “So you’re saying you believe me?”

  “I’m saying I want to.”

  You hesitate, then hold out your hand. Simone looks at it, then looks back up at you.

  “Go on, take it,” you say, your blood roaring in your ears. “I can prove this is real.”

  You’re not entirely sure this is true. You know, from your experiments, that anything you touch will be lifted out of time with you. But you never tried it with another person. You don’t know what will happen.

  Simone slips her hand into yours.

  It feels like time stops before you even do anything. Just holding her hand has the same effect on you—the rush of excitement, the race of your heart, the sensation that you’re the only thing in the world that’s real. You try to quell your nervousness enough to concentrate—and then you do it. You stop time.

  You can see she feels something, because she gasps. But it’s hard for her to tell in her bedroom that anything has changed.

  You have to take her outside. You have to show her the rain.

  “Come on,” you say, grinning a little. “And don’t let go, or it won’t work.”

  She lets you lead her out of the bedroom and down the hall. The first thing she notices is her dog climbing up the stairs, suspended in motion. Then her parents, cleaning the kitchen, arranged like dolls in a house.

  “Holy shit,” she whispers. Something about the utter lack of sound must compel her to be quiet herself.

  “And here you were calling me a liar.”

  “I never said all that.”

  You both fall into silence as you make your way through the warmly lit entryway. You can feel Simone’s eyes on the back of your neck.

  “How come it took this for you to talk to me, Jordan?” she asks softly.

  Your face warms. You unlock the front door without turning around.

  “We talk,” you hedge.

  “Not like this. Not about anything real. I can tell you’re shy, though, so I tried to leave you alone.”

  You step onto the front porch. It’s chilly outside, and neither of you stopped to grab your coats. You press closer together. The frozen raindrops shimmer before you like fallen stars.

  “I just . . . didn’t want to force it,” you say finally. “There’s no reason the two Black girls have to be friends.” You laugh a little nervously.

  “Well, you seem like you could use a friend.” She hesitates. “I didn’t mean it like—”

  “No,” you say. “You’re right. I could.”

  You look up at her, and she’s smiling again. Enjoying the perfect stillness of the moment. She leans in and kisses you. Lips soft and sticky-sweet with gloss, the smell of lavender soap on her skin.

  Lightning shoots through you. You’re so startled you lose your concentration. Time starts back up again, the sudden patter of the rain almost masking her soft laughter. She breaks away.

  You can’t help a grin of your own. “What was that for?” you ask.

  “You trusted me with your secret. I guess I can trust you with mine.” She lets go of your hand and nods for you to follow her back inside. “Come on. If you really have questions, you’re better off asking my dad himself.”

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  You drive back home through the dark, headlights brown-yellow against the black of the road. You’re still buzzing with excitement. You learned from Dr. Mitchell that you’re not the only one. He’s had several people in the neighborhood reach out to him. There’s a ten-year-old Black boy who can move small objects with his mind. A twenty-two-year-old Black woman who can start a fire with a thought. For every thousand people who get sick from the Contaminant, there seems to be one, like you, who gets stronger.

  Dr. Mitchell promised not to tell anyone at his job about you without your permission. You know you’ll have to tell your parents, though. Your mother was upset enough with your holey jeans. You have no idea how she’ll handle this. But you’re going to have to make some decisions soon, decisions that might affect your whole family. Do you want to be the first to go public with your powers? Like Simone said, that might be what it takes to get the lab to stop poisoning the neighborhood. But you’ve seen what happens to people the government decides are dangerous. When you take a risk like that, you have to be ready.

  But you have a feeling you’ll get there.

  As you pull into the driveway, tires crunching over the gravel, your mind drifts back to Simone’s knowing smile as you thanked her father and said goodbye. Your kiss is still a delicious secret between the two of you, one you’re not ready to share with anyone else. At least not until you’ve had a chance to savor it
yourself first.

  There’s no hurry, after all. You have all the time in the world.

  THE WITCH’S SKIN

  By Karen Strong

  Another Boo Hag had arrived on Samara Island. The witch only came at night, shedding a stolen skin and shape-shifting into any form she pleased. It was then the witch would select a victim. If you were the unlucky chosen, the Boo Hag would sit on your chest and ride you, stealing your spirit.

  But only if you were a man.

  It was a fatal theft. Without spirit, the body was only a shell, and the soul withered. Before the sun rose in the sky, the witch’s victims were dead.

  Now all the houses on Samara Island looked the same. Windows and doors were painted indigo blue to repel the Boo Hag, and the women sought out herbs and root rituals to protect their husbands and sons.

  In the bright light of morning, Nalah Everlasting crushed berries in a bowl. After gathering Spanish moss and pine needles to build smoke and keep the mosquitoes away, she had gone into the woods to find a fire beauty, a red-tinged fern with small cream-colored berries. Island folks knew touching a fire beauty’s leaves could cause high fever, but the potent juice from the berries did its damage differently. One drop could burn skin down to the bone.

  When she finished crushing the berries, Nalah carefully poured the juice into a mason jar and sealed it tight. It was a good defense against the Boo Hag, who couldn’t survive long without a stolen skin.

  “I done told you to stop that,” a voice said behind her.

  Nalah flinched and turned to see her mother. She hadn’t heard her footsteps, but she never did. It was always as if Tena Everlasting glided on air.

  “This is my last one,” Nalah said. “Lucy Resby made a special request. To protect her husband.”

  “If the Hag wants John Resby, she’ll take him. Nothing can stop that.”

  Nalah kept quiet. She knew the Resbys of Shell Bluff had little respect for the Everlastings. The Resbys were members of the ruling Council, descendants of scientists who had come from the Mainland before the Cataclysm. The Council had always looked down on the old ways of the indigenous families of Belle Hammock, dismissing their beliefs as superstition. But now the Council’s opinion had changed on that matter.

  Seventeen years ago, a Boo Hag had been killed on Carlitta Beach in Belle Hammock, the first in over a century. The Elders often told the story of the witch’s demise. Nalah had only been a baby when it happened. In her reign of terror, the witch had taken fourteen spirits. The Defense Guild had found the Boo Hag without a skin, shrunken and withered from the sun. After parading the body on the main road, the Council had burned the witch in a tar cauldron. The smoke should have been an explosion of color, but it never changed. The Elders thought it was very rare, but it only solidified how much the world had changed since the Cataclysm and the appearance of the Veil, an opaque mist that surrounded the island.

  Now another Boo Hag had arrived to steal the spirits of men.

  On her nights with Malik Sewell, Nalah had never once feared for his life. As the ocean breeze rustled through the palmettos, Nalah and Malik would lie in his boat skin to skin and look at the stars, the mortal danger of the Boo Hag far from both of their minds. It had been a fatal mistake.

  She had been a foolish girl, and Nalah vowed never to be one again. It was why she had ventured into the woods to find the fire beauty. She would do her part to protect every wife and mother on Samara Island from the Boo Hag. She would protect them from the heartbreak and loss she knew too well.

  Nalah put Lucy Resby’s mason jar in her traveling bag. Keenly aware of how her mother watched her, she stiffened and then took a deep breath to calm her nerves.

  “After I take this to Shell Bluff, I’m going to see Malik,” she said.

  Her mother frowned. “You need to let that be. You can’t bring him back. What’s done is done.”

  Nalah rubbed her belly and the baby gave a strong kick. “It’s not done. Not yet.”

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Nalah shielded her eyes from the brightness and adjusted her head wrap that proudly displayed her favorite colors, fresh green and bright red. She closed her eyes and tilted her head to let the sun’s rays sink into her skin. She was one of the darkest girls on the island, her blue-black hue a trait of the Everlasting bloodline. Right before she was born, her father had sailed off with the Nautical Guild to investigate the Veil, but he had never returned. Island folks told her that she was the spitting image of him, so her face was the only physical memory.

  Two ibis birds screeched overhead as Nalah made her way down the main road to Behaven Cemetery. A sleek rover-car slowly passed her, and Nalah scowled at the dust in its wake. It was powered by solar energy, like most things on the island. She couldn’t tell by the heavily tinted windows who was in it, but she was sure it was someone from a Council family. Nalah had only been in one once, the frigid air raising gooseflesh all over her skin.

  Nalah arrived at the cemetery’s iron gates and bowed her head to say grace to the island spirits.

  “My name is Nalah Everlasting, daughter of Yem. I mean no disrespect. I’m here to see my love, Malik Sewell.”

  She waited for a sign. A few moments later, a black cat appeared from behind one of the tombstones. The luckiest of omens. Nalah smiled and opened the gate.

  Walking down the path to Malik’s grave, she passed many of the Elders with their unique tombstones. Many were marked with plates, old clocks, or other special objects for blood kin to easily locate them.

  Malik’s grave was marked by an obelisk. Nalah would have chosen differently, but she hadn’t been Malik’s wife. Without that official title, she had no claim to his burial rites. She touched the engraved symbols of his Council family crest and traced his name lovingly as the tears fell.

  As she wiped her eyes, she glanced around the cemetery to see if she was the only living person among the spirits. When she confirmed that she was, she flipped over a large rock near Malik’s grave. Underneath it was a shallow hole, and Nalah retrieved a cloth bag. She unknotted the twine and took a sniff. The strong odor confirmed the winnow’s reed and sapelo pepper had grown in potency. Three days ago, she had ground the pepper to a fine powder in the cemetery. Her eyes had watered as the seeds released their essence into the air. The black seeds of the winnow’s reed had been harder to grind, the tough shell difficult to crack. Nalah had covered her exertion with mournful cries so that if anyone had heard and came looking, they would only see a young girl crying over a grave.

  Nalah would dust the shed skin of the Boo Hag with this spice mix. The sapelo pepper would do the job quickly enough, but Nalah knew the witch was strong. Nalah was too heavy with child and would be no match. It was the reason she had added the winnow’s reed. It was a known soothing agent and would slow down the pepper’s properties. Enough time for Nalah to escape.

  No longer a foolish girl, Nalah had been vigilant and mindful in this preparation. It was a dangerous task with little room for mistakes, but she had no choice but to proceed.

  Six months ago, a Boo Hag had arrived on Samara Island. In her reign of terror, the witch had taken eight spirits. Malik Sewell had been one of them.

  Nalah lay down in front of his grave. The baby kicked again, and she shed more tears. Malik’s body now decayed in the ground, his spirit stolen, his soul perished. The pain of her loss was always present, sunken deep into her bones. Malik was gone, but she had made a vow, and the time had come.

  She was going to kill the Boo Hag tonight.

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Malik Sewell had been born in the new world but learned the old ways. He could operate the material printer in the underground compound, but he could also weave a net and catch the biggest croakers.

  Despite living on opposite sides of Samara Island, Malik hadn’t been a stranger to Nalah. She
would see him at school and at the weekly market. She watched from afar, curious about the scrawny, light-skinned boy who would come to Carlitta Beach to learn the casting net technique from the Belle Hammock fishermen.

  Unlike the other Shell Bluff children, Malik didn’t look down on her. Nalah had told him that she welcomed the new ways of technology, but she also wanted to honor the old ways that had been practiced on the island for centuries.

  Malik became a friend and confidant. As they grew up together, it became a tradition to go out on his boat in the darkness, snake down the Turpentine River, and venture out into the ocean. They would watch the moonrise and meteors streak across the sky, all within safe distance of the Veil, the starlight making it shimmer like a pearlescent mirror.

  Nalah couldn’t remember when their friendship had turned into something more. The feelings had been so gradual but also inevitable.

  One night, they lay in Malik’s boat and he pointed to a moving object that they both knew was a satellite. A relic created before the Cataclysm.

  “In the archives, I read they built these ships on the Mainland. Huge ships that ran on fuel and flew up into the atmosphere and into space,” he said.

  Nalah had also read those same archives. It had been one of the many marvels of the Mainland. But that was before the war known as the Cataclysm. Before the mushroom cloud had appeared in the sky almost two centuries ago. In the aftermath, the scientists from the Mainland created twelve guilds and forged a new beginning on Samara Island. As years passed, the scientists melded with the island lineages, and a different world emerged. Three powerful families from Shell Bluff created the Council, along with new sacred laws.

  Nalah stared at the Veil, watching it undulate and pulse as if alive with its own spirit. The Elders had told the story of its appearance. Many years after the Cataclysm, the mysterious mist had surrounded the island. The Elemental Guild had determined the Veil wasn’t harmful, but navigational drones could never find landmass beyond it. Nalah wondered if anything or anyone was left beyond its pale tendrils. She wondered if her father had ventured past the thick mist, or if he was forever lost, unable to return. The Council no longer sent scouting parties into the Veil, claiming the excursions were too dangerous.