The King of Crows

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The King of Crows Page 7

by Libba Bray


  “All the more reason we shouldn’t go see that bum Marlowe, you ask me,” Theta said.

  “If we can’t convince Marlowe to destroy the Eye, my brother and the other soldiers will stay trapped in that awful loop, playing out the same agonizing day again and again.” Evie’s voice broke. She wished Sam were there. She wished Mabel were there. She wished Will were there to tell them what to do. Evie glared at Sister Walker. “And you’re responsible for it.”

  Sister Walker bristled. “That’s not true.”

  “Maybe not fully. But she ain’t all wrong, either,” Bill challenged. Healed by Memphis’s power, he stood tall before Sister Walker. But his youth he could never get back. That had been taken from him by Project Buffalo and the Shadow Men. And Margaret Walker and Will Fitzgerald had let those men do that to him.

  Sister Walker started in on Bill while Evie, Memphis, and the others were getting all worked up about Jake Marlowe’s machine. Everybody was always talking, and Isaiah never got to speak. Memphis had promised that what Isaiah had to say was important and now, as usual, everybody else was running their mouths, arguing over every little thing. He’d been holding on to his story for as long as he could, but now he felt like he would burst if he didn’t talk. “I had a vision while we were in the tunnels!” he blurted. “About another Diviner. She said she was in danger. She said we were all in danger from the King of Crows and his army. And she knows how to stop him! But we gotta get to her. We gotta go to Bountiful.”

  “Bountiful?” Evie repeated.

  “Uh-huh. Bountiful, Nebraska.”

  “Sarah Beth Olson,” Evie said.

  “Say, how’d you know her name?” Isaiah was annoyed. Finally, he had something of his own to share that made him feel special, and here Evie had gone and stolen his thunder.

  “She was one of the Diviners created by Project Buffalo,” Evie said, excited. “I read her chart.”

  Sister Walker frowned. “I don’t remember her. But she could have been one of Rotke’s, or someone else’s in the department. What else did you get from her chart?”

  “She was a little younger than we are. She’d be about fifteen now. Yes, I remember! According to the notes, she had an imaginary friend.” Evie’s eyes widened. “A man in a stovepipe hat.”

  “That don’t sound like a good thing to me,” Bill cautioned.

  “Sarah Beth said he lied to her. That somebody named Miriam told her the truth,” Isaiah said.

  “Sam’s mother!” Evie said.

  “Gee, how would she know about Sam’s mother unless she was on the up-and-up?” Theta asked.

  Evie frowned. “There was something written at the bottom of Sarah Beth’s chart. A recommendation that they not continue. Why would they say that?”

  Sister Walker shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe her powers were too strong. Maybe they frightened someone.”

  “I thought that’s what your bosses wanted—to make us into weapons,” Henry said.

  “They saw you as weapons. But for those of us doing the work in the Department of Paranormal, it was apparent that there was so much more to explore—the potential to create something new. Something that could connect us to the infinite and unseen. Something just outside our grasp.”

  “We still don’t know what we’re capable of. We know we can create an energy field and disturb matter, possibly even change its atomic structure,” Ling said, ever the scientist. “But is that it? Is there more?”

  “There has to be. I think we’ve barely scratched the surface,” Sister Walker said. “Give me a chance to work with you, and we can find out just how strong you are together. We could still unlock wonders.”

  “But do you know that?” Jericho asked. “I saw what happened to the men of the Daedalus program. They got stronger, and then they weakened, went mad. They were on Marlowe’s serum—the serum you all developed to make Diviners.” The serum that had been flowing through Jericho’s body for ten years. The serum he was now without. Jericho shoved his hands in his pockets and squeezed his fingers tight, making fists.

  Ling looked concerned. “Will we get weaker over time the more we use our power? Will it make us vulnerable to the King of Crows and his dead? Are there consequences we don’t know about?”

  “I told you, Sarah Beth can help us!” Isaiah tried again. “She knows how to stop him. And she sure seemed scared of him. She’s all alone out there.”

  “Is there a way to stop the King of Crows that doesn’t put us in Nebraska?” Theta asked. “You ever been to Nebraska? It’s a real flat tire.”

  Henry snugged his arm across Theta’s shoulders, smiling. “On the bright side, it’s all the corn you can eat.”

  “You’re not listening to me!” Isaiah shouted.

  “Easy, Little Man,” Bill warned.

  But Isaiah didn’t want to be easy. He wanted to be heard. “Sarah Beth said we’re not safe on our own. We’re in danger. We need to go to Bountiful!”

  “Did she say how we can stop the King of Crows?” Ling asked.

  “No. She said we have to get to Bountiful first. That we all have to be together for it to work. She saved us from a ghost in the tunnel!”

  That got everybody arguing again till the room was like sitting ringside at a boxing match, everybody talking at once, shouting one another down, until Madame Seraphina let loose with a sharp whistle that hurt Isaiah’s ears.

  “I won’t have this bad energy in my house,” she said firmly.

  “I think we should go to Bountiful,” Evie said.

  “Evie, you don’t know anything about this girl,” Sister Walker cautioned.

  “Nor do you!”

  “Let me work with all of you, strengthen your powers—”

  “I’m not going to Bountiful,” Ling said. “I have to help my parents with the restaurant. Some of us have responsibilities.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Evie snapped.

  “That does seem like a long way to go on just a vision,” Henry said.

  “She was scared!” Isaiah insisted. He was afraid he would cry, which was what happened when he got angry. “She needs our help. Memphis, Mama always said we should help where we could.”

  “Well, we cain’t help her, Little Man. Got to help ourselves by gettin’ outta town,” Bill said.

  “I vote Bountiful,” Evie said, raising her hand.

  “Bountiful,” Jericho said.

  “I say we stay and work with Sister Walker,” Henry said.

  “I’m with Henry,” Ling said.

  “Me, too,” Theta said, not looking at Isaiah.

  “Then we stay here,” Memphis said. “We work with Sister Walker and figure out how to stop the King of Crows from doing whatever it is he’s got up his sleeve.”

  Isaiah looked up at Memphis. The betrayal showed in his eyes. Memphis reached out, but Isaiah ran to the other side of the room.

  “Isaiah,” Memphis called. He felt lousy for making Isaiah feel bad, but his brother would get over it.

  “Memphis, how you gonna do that with them Shadow Men after you?” Bill tapped his finger against his temple. “You’re not thinkin’.”

  “I didn’t ask you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m telling you. Spoke with Miss Seraphina and Octavia. There’s a train to New Orleans tomorrow night, and we need to be on it. Got it all sorted with the Brotherhood.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The Brotherhood of the Sleeping Car Porters,” Seraphina said. “One of them, Mr. Nelson Desir, owes me a favor. The Brotherhood will see you out of town.”

  “I’m not going,” Memphis said.

  “The hell you’re not.”

  “I won’t warn you again about the bad energy,” Seraphina said.

  Memphis put his arm around Theta. “We get Marlowe to see reason, he’ll call off those Shadow Men. I can stay right here.”

  “I’ve known that man more than twenty years,” Sister Walker said. “There’s no reasoning with him. He be
lieves his way is the only way. He’s always right. Dangerously so.”

  “We have to at least try, don’t we?” Evie asked.

  “You’re still playing by their rules,” Seraphina broke in. “You’ll never get anywhere that way. Remember: They make the rules to suit themselves. And they change them to suit themselves.”

  Sister Walker looked at Evie. “I don’t like this. What will you do if there are Shadow Men there?”

  “If they come for us, we’ll show ’em what Diviners can do. We’ll give ’em a real lulu of a disturbance,” Evie said.

  “We create a disturbance and we’re playing into everything they believe about Diviners,” Theta reminded her.

  “I’m not saying we will do it. I’m saying we can do it. It’s good for Jake Marlowe to know that, too,” Evie said. “So we’re decided: We go talk to Jake Marlowe at the memorial tomorrow night and try to get him to understand how dangerous the Eye is. If he shuts it down, the King of Crows will have no way into our world. Our troubles are solved.”

  Ling tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair. “Why hasn’t the King of Crows come after us if we’re a threat?” The question hung in the air along with Theta’s cigarette smoke. “The King of Crows controls the dead. They’re loyal to him,” Ling continued. “What happens if there are ghosts he can’t control?”

  “I didn’t think this situation could get any creepier, but you’ve managed it,” Henry said. “Congratulations.”

  “If the ghosts come after us, we’ll blast them apart until there’s not one left,” Evie said bitterly.

  A triple knock at Seraphina’s door put everyone on edge. Sister Walker grabbed a fireplace poker.

  “You going to warm them up, Margaret?” Seraphina said, bemused. “At ease. That’s my signal.”

  Seraphina disappeared into the little foyer under the stoop. In a minute she returned, one hand at her hip. “Memphis, did you tell Alma to meet you here?”

  “No, ma’am,” Memphis said.

  “Then who did?”

  Alma entered, her chorus girl smile in place. “Hey, everybody.”

  Henry glanced over his shoulder at Ling. He’d never seen someone blush so hard in all his life.

  RING

  On the front stoop, Ling and Alma sat together and watched night come to Harlem in deepening shades of blue. Alma looked pretty in her drop-waist champagne-colored dress and matching cloche with a ruby brooch pinned to the ribbon. Ling wished she’d worn something other than the green dress she put on to work at the restaurant. The color washed her out, she thought, but it hid the food stains. There were people returning from work, eager to get back to their homes. Lights blinked on in windows. Down the street, a man took a broom to his sidewalk, brushing away spring blooms.

  “Feels nice out here,” Alma said after a while.

  “Yes. Um. Breezy. But not too breezy,” Ling said, a little giddy. Alma made her feel looser, less guarded. But she could tell that Alma was uncomfortable from the way she kept tapping one foot, making her knee shake. “Something on your mind?” Ling asked.

  Alma looked down at her shoes. “I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?” Ling’s heart beat faster like it did in her dream walks just before the landscape shifted into something new, something out of her control.

  “I’ve joined up with TOBA,” Alma said.

  “What’s a TOBA?”

  Alma managed a half smile. “It’s an acronym. Stands for Theater Owners Booking Association, though some folks say it means ‘Tough on Black Asses.’ It’s the outfit that books Negro acts into vaudeville houses on the Chitlin Circuit.”

  It took a moment for Ling to catch up. “You’re leaving?”

  Alma looked down at her shoes again. Ling did, too. They were blond satin T-straps of the kind Ling had always liked, the kind she would not be wearing ever again. “If trouble’s gonna come calling, it won’t find me at home,” Alma said. “It’ll have to chase me down first.”

  All the words Ling wanted to say knotted in her throat: Don’t go. I want you to stay. I like you but I’m frightened. Could I love you? Could you love me? Does love even matter in this mess of a world? How can I possibly fight evil without having something worth fighting for?

  “When?”

  “Day after tomorrow,” Alma answered.

  “Day after tomorrow?” Ling repeated, barely comprehending.

  “A spot came open with a band, the Harlem Haymakers, and I had to jump on it. They have their own bus and everything. I’ll be gone about three months. Maybe longer. It’s a good way to make money and a name for myself and… Oh, horsefeathers, Ling. I need to leave New York. All these ghosts. And… us.”

  “Us,” Ling repeated.

  “I just don’t know how we make this work between us,” Alma said quietly.

  Ling blushed with shame. Sex. It was about sex, or the lack thereof. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Alma laced her beautiful fingers and placed them in her lap. And then Ling forced herself to keep her gaze on the man across the street sweeping his patch of sidewalk. Ling watched the bristles pushing against the wilted flowers and felt as if she, too, were being brushed into the gutter.

  “Aren’t you… going to say something?” Alma whispered.

  What could she possibly say? Ling had allowed herself to imagine a future with Alma while, apparently, Alma had been making other plans without her. The hurt cut so deeply Ling could scarcely catch her breath. “Seems you’ve already made up your mind.”

  “Ling… I think you’re the bee’s knees,” Alma said softly after a minute or two had passed. “Honestly, I do. There’s nobody quite like you out there.”

  That’s why you’re breaking it off with me on a stoop in Harlem. Because I’m so very special.

  “I’m sorry that I couldn’t… I’m sorry,” Alma said. She stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her shiny dress.

  The man had finished his sweeping. He headed back toward his house.

  “Do you… want me to help you up or… anything?”

  Ling cleared her throat. “No. I… no.”

  “It’s chilly. Don’t sit out here too long.”

  There were a hundred things Ling thought to say back: I’ll sit as long as I like. Don’t act like my mother. I couldn’t feel any colder than I already do.

  “Well,” Alma said, still waiting. Ling let her wait another few seconds.

  “Well,” Ling said coolly. “Break a leg. That’s what you say, isn’t it? Even though it makes no sense.” Nothing made sense. Nothing at all.

  Alma gave a nervous little laugh. “Yes. That’s what you say. It’s supposed to keep away bad luck.”

  Well, it’s not working, Ling thought. She wished she hadn’t come uptown. If she’d stayed behind in the restaurant, Alma wouldn’t have been able to say good-bye.

  Alma walked to the bottom of the steps and looked up at Ling. She had the loveliest face, and Ling’s chest squeezed tighter when she thought of never seeing it again.

  “You’re sure you’re jake?” Alma said.

  Ling was most decidedly not jake. But when people asked a question, they usually left you clues about how to answer. It didn’t take a scientist to know that what Alma was really saying was, Be okay. I don’t want to feel guilty.

  “I have to go work at the restaurant,” Ling said in response. She wouldn’t give Alma the satisfaction of a clean getaway.

  Alma’s smile fluttered and her lashes batted away tears. The comment had landed, Ling could see, but she took very little satisfaction from it. “Honey, please, please don’t hate me. I couldn’t bear it. Clever as you are, you’ll find someone. I know you will,” Alma said.

  Ling’s throat burned with all she held back.

  “I’ll write you. I will! I’ll send postcards from all over the country,” Alma said, like she was wooing an audience.

  “That’s too expensive.” Ling did not want to cry. Not with Alma there, and with Seraphina’
s runners keeping watch on the street.

  Alma laughed and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “See what I mean? You’re always you. Always honest.”

  But Ling knew that was the biggest lie of all.

  Alma pointed a finger at Ling. “You take care of yourself, you hear me? You get Jake Marlowe to stop that machine. I know you can. Do right, Ling Chan.”

  Do right. It’s what Ling’s mother would say. But in times like these, how could you know what was right? Ling sat on the steps for a while longer, watching Alma’s champagne-colored dress swish down the street. Only when Alma rounded the corner did Ling let out the choking sob.

  “Good-bye,” she whispered.

  Nearby, the bird watched her intently.

  In the back room of Seraphina’s shop, Memphis and Theta kissed until at last, in need of air, Theta leaned her forehead against Memphis’s neck.

  “I was so worried about you,” she whispered.

  Memphis stroked a thumb across her cheek. “And here I was worried about you.”

  She leaned her head back and squinted at Memphis. “You’re gonna be on that train tomorrow, right?”

  “There’s no need.”

  Theta put a finger to Memphis’s lips. “Those Shadow Men are hunting for you and Isaiah.”

  Memphis kissed Theta’s finger and moved it aside. “How ’bout this: If we can’t talk sense to Jake Marlowe at the memorial, I will board that train. Scout’s honor.”

  She laughed. “You’re no Scout.”

  “You got that right.” Memphis kissed her fully, tasting the chalkiness of her lipstick and not caring. “Hey!” he said, breaking away. “I almost forgot. I sent a poem to the Crisis.”

  “You did?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Aw, Memphis, that’s the berries!”

  “I s’pose it seems pretty ridiculous what with everything else going on. Not that important.”

  “It is important,” Theta insisted. “It can’t be all catastrophe all the time.”

  Memphis smiled, sheepish. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a folded scrap of paper. “I… copied it out for you, if you want to read it. Not that you have to!”

 

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