Wings of Ebony

by J. Elle

  “Leave her alone!” The fingers at my scalp are dug in tight, but I pull and jerk, trying to break free. Dave is inches from her when her groceries hit the ground, one of those giant-ass cans of beans in her hand. She slams it into his forehead and I can hear the crunch. He staggers, his bat hitting the ground, rolling away.

  “You get away from me!” she shouts, trying to shuffle away as blood drips from Dave’s face. He’s woozy on his feet, but he goes for her again, rougher this time.

  “I swear on my life,” I say, thrashing in his grip, “I’ll burn you alive if you touch her.”

  Their laughs taunt me.

  “Shut up.”

  A lump slams into my back and my knees hit the ground. Pain rattles up my spine. Free of his grip, I try to stand but, Gun Holder aims at me. “Sit your ass down.”

  Dave folds Ms. Leola’s arms behind her.

  “Let her go!”

  “Give us what we came for and we will.” The gun is cold on my forehead.

  I hold my chin up. “What do you want?”

  “You know what we came for. Some pieces of jewelry.”

  I tuck my elbows tight to my side against the lump in my pocket. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Bullshit. Boss said for sure they’d be here.”

  The barrel of the gun digs harder into my head as he pulls me to my feet. “I said, where’re the bracelets?”

  If I give the cuffs to them, my blood will still paint this pavement. Cooperating ain’t gon’ make me any more alive at the end of this. The bloody-faced dude with strands of my ripped out hair still around his fingers, scoops up the bat and slams it into my legs. Ms. Leola wails.

  “No, Rue, baby. J-just give ’em what they want.”

  “Hey, you—old lady—you know where they are?” Gun Holder’s distracted looking her way.

  I got one opening.

  And I take it.

  I slam a fist into his wrist holding the gun. His grip loosens and the metal slips, smacking the ground.

  “What the—” he stutters.

  Fingers grip my scalp, but I shove an elbow backward and the dude behind me grunts, his hand loosening for a second. I spin around and the heel of my hand slams up into his nose. I’ve squared up enough to know you aim for the tender parts. And he’s got a few.

  He barrels over, holding his face, blood trickling between his fingers. Metal glints on my peripheral. The gun! Gun Holder dashes for it, but I’m faster, flinging my body forward. My hands close around the metal as I slam the ground. I point it dead at his face.

  I lock my elbows in place, hoping he can’t tell how bad my arms are shaking. It’s so heavy. Heavier than I thought it would be. I keep my eyes fixed ahead.

  His hands go up. Coward. For coming for a kid with a gun, beating up on some old lady.

  “Drop the bat,” I say.

  He does.

  “And let her go or your friend dies.” The guy holding Ms. Leola lets her go.

  “Get on outta here,” she yells. “Leave us alone.” She knees him in the balls before scooting off inside.

  “She’s right. It’s time for you to go. Get out of here.”

  The guys look at one another, hands up, but their smirks mock me. One even steps toward me. “She doesn’t have it in her.”

  He’s right.

  He moves closer and my hands shake. I can’t hold them still.

  “You think I won’t shoot?” I shout. He moves closer. “You think I won’t take you out? I said, leave East Row.”

  Please don’t make me do this.

  He takes another step toward me.

  I-I gotta show him I-I’m not playing. I aim at the ground and squeeze the trigger.

  Crack!

  Bat Holder literally jumps and yelps. His hands go up and he leaps back.

  My insides scream. I’m not ever doing that again.…

  I’d call the police if I thought it’d help.

  But they’d probably arrest me.

  If I’m lucky.

  “Next time, it’s your head,” I say, hoping I sound tougher than I feel. This is not the way. Not my way. I slip the cuffs out my pocket and their eyes light up like Christmas. I clip them on my wrists one at a time, careful to keep the gun pointed at his head. He’s backing away slowly, but practically salivating.

  “Get out of here. You’re not getting these.” Please, cuffs, whatever you got, I need it now. I do not wanna fire this gun again.

  They turn to go, but keep looking back at me, eyes on my wrist jewelry.

  “Keep moving, that’s right!” I grip the gun with both hands. They’re not walking away fast enough.

  Whatever power you want to help me find, Ancestors, please—I need it now.

  I reach for the warmth, that familiar tickle inside, willing myself to feel something from the gold on my wrists. Willing myself to hear.

  Magic, where are you?

  My wrists warm and my heart pounds. I-is it working? A tiny burst of energy tickles my chest. Are they answering?

  Suddenly the guys stop and turn toward me, a sick grin on one of the twisted faces. A shadow moves on the ground and an eerie feeling settles over me.

  Everything in me goes cold.

  “You have what I want, I see.” The General’s voice behind me is like ice on my skin. His smug face is somehow even more gross up close. He practically struts toward me, stepping over fallen groceries and past the blood on the ground like he’s trying to make sure his polished shoes don’t get too dirty.

  My magic. I bite down and copper spreads on my tongue.

  Even more are behind him, hands full of bottles of liquid with torn rags inside them.

  “We can keep this cordial.” The General swirls a ball of fire in his hand. “Or I can burn this place to the ground. Hand over the cuffs.”

  These cuffs are the gateway to reaching whatever magic I’m supposed to have. Without them I don’t stand a chance.

  I point the gun at him. “No!”

  Come on, cuffs… Come on. WORK!

  He chuckles. “You think you’re brave, child. So smart. Like you know so much. And yet you know very little.” He steps so close to me I can smell him. There are dozens around us now.

  “The cuffs. I’ll only ask this once more.”

  I-I can’t. These are my power, my magic, our hope. I study them, glistening on my skin, and they warm a touch.

  “A-ancestors, I-I am your Ghizoni daughter and I call on you to help,” I mutter. “P-please hear me.”

  The cuffs rattle, warming.

  I gasp. Something’s happening.

  “You won’t cooperate?” the General asks. “Fine. Just need the proper motivation.” His men take off around us.

  The cuffs are suddenly piping hot and I reach for a faint tickle in my chest.

  It’s happening, I can feel it.

  Glass shatters in the distance as his dawgs move from house to house, breaking windows, tossing bottles inside. Flames erupt from one of the windows and a woman bursts through the front door, screaming. Mommas hold their babies, fumbling for phones to call someone.

  More screams.

  More running.

  A keyboard and a pair of TVs fall out an upper window, shattering on the ground. Cloudy haze swallows the fire, some man spraying foam from a red can. The fire’s out, but another’s started as the General’s men make their rounds, looting, ransacking.

  “Nooooo!”

  “Th-they’re destroying my home.”

  Rage rips through me.

  I tuck the gun in my waist and charge at him.

  The General stumbles back and tumbles to the ground. I’m on top of him and my fist kisses his face with a smack. I clamp my hands on his head and dig my thumbs into his eye sockets. “GET! OFF! MY BLOCK!”

  He thrashes, pushing, punching my side as streams of fiery magic buzz past my head. Sirens yowl in the distance. People everywhere are bawling, shouting. East Row is a symphony of chaos. My leg pulses w
ith pain. Someone pulls me backward and I punch and kick, ripping myself away. I’m up on my feet, hands up, guarding my face. There are two guys clawing at my wrists, hitting me from behind. I guard my head and a blow rams into my arms. The cuffs.

  Focus.

  Dig.

  My wrists tingle.

  Yes, that’s it. I can feel it. Something warm moves through me like a thread of fire, getting hotter, stronger by the second, when a burst of light slams into me, knocking me to the ground.

  My back smacks the pavement, and I gasp for air.

  The cuffs slip from my wrists and land with a tink and roll away.

  NOOOOO!

  I peer in every direction, but my head swims and warmth trickles down my cheek.

  Wh-where’d they go?

  Another crash of furniture hits the ground. More glass breaks.

  Th-the c-cuffs. I n-need the cuffs. Th-they were about to work. I blink, over and over, the world growing a little clearer.

  I have to find the—

  Another crash.

  Piles of things are on fire, burning. People are crying, fleeing. Muddled voices and the clack of the General’s footsteps grow louder. He’s coming for me.

  The cuffs… wh-where are they?

  Streetlight glints on something metal and shiny.

  I crawl, feverishly, asphalt ripping my jeans, scratching my knees. Everything in me aches, but I lug myself forward across the ground, reaching, clawing, my arms burning. I try to stand up, but his crew pins me down, their feet on my arms. I groan, but I won’t scream. I won’t.

  The General wipes the blood from his lip with a handkerchief. “You people are animals.” He scoops up the cuffs, eyes bloodshot.

  Nooo!

  “You have any idea how hard I’ve been searching for these? Thought they were a myth.” He squats to face me, and his face is blurry. “The Chancellor isn’t keen to let me keep playing my little games here, if I don’t keep my word to him.”

  The cuffs glisten in his fingertips. If they burn him, I can’t tell. “Let’s at least make this fun, shall we? Let her up.” His boys let me go and I stagger to my feet. The world is sideways.

  “You want them back?” The General turns the cuffs in his hands, his smile curling upward.

  I can’t take my eyes off the gold. I do. It’s my magic. Our hope. Our everything.

  He tosses the cuffs high in the air. “Fetch.”

  I bite back the pain and dash for it.

  He squeezes an eye shut, pointing. Magic shoots from his fingertip and slams into the cuff and it shatters into a cloud of golden dust.

  “Nooooo!” The scream rips from me as my knees slam the asphalt. Golden ash falls like snow and tears burn my face. No, h-he c-can’t! I pound one bloody fist to the ground after the other. Sirens wail louder, but the sounds of looting and cries of East Row drown them out.

  “Cuffs, destroyed.” The General dusts off his hands. “Chancellor’s orders.”

  “You can’t!” I yell, again and again, louder and louder, until my throat is raw. Gilded ash flickers through the air, my failure taunting me.

  He’s in my face. So close I can smell the sweat on his pasty skin. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that? If my men would’ve taken care of you a year ago like they were supposed to, the Chancellor wouldn’t be breathing down my neck now. But no, your bitch mother had to get in the way.” He smiles, satisfied with himself. “But I guess we took care of her.”

  M-my mother?

  H-he… he killed my mother?

  I can’t think.

  I don’t feel.

  I only see red.

  I fling a jab at his disgusting smirk, but streams of magic pummel into me, throwing me back before I can reach his face.

  He stands over me, the commotion of chaos pounding in my head.

  This is the end. H-he’s going to kill me.

  He killed my mother and now he’s gonna finish me off.

  He smirks. “Killing you wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as watching you suffer.” He blows me a kiss, turns on the spot, and disappears.

  People shriek, crying, begging for the gang to stop.

  My home is in pieces.

  The gateway to my magic is shattered, gone—a heap of ash.

  I feel nothing. I’m as good as dead.

  CHAPTER 32

  THE SIRENS CRY SO loud my head feels like it might implode. Smoke stings my nostrils, and the sound of gushing water rings in my ears. The fires are all gone, but the people stand around mourning broken treasures, stolen mementos, the terror of being hated and hunted.

  Phones are out everywhere, but no news crews or cameras. If we’re going to document injustice, we gotta capture that shit ourselves. A cluster of people stand a few feet away on the basketball court, watching.

  I sit on the ground, hugging my knees.

  If I don’t move, maybe the world will stop spinning.

  The hope for protecting my sister, my neighborhood, is in a million pieces on the ground. And I’m empty, like a gaping hole has been ripped open inside of me. Boots shuffle around me, tending to the chaos. An ambulance blares in the distance and police sirens howl.

  It’s over. I’m useless.

  People like me never win.

  My knotted hair is tight between my fingers. I grip and tug, digging my nails into my scalp. It should hurt, but I’m numb. There’s no fix to dull the pain, and nowhere to hide my shame, so I cry out here in front of everyone, looking weak AF.

  A man in a paramedic uniform’s words are a dull buzz in my ear. I shoo him away like a gnat. The weight on my chest says it’s useless to breathe. It rises and sinks, slower. I don’t care. I’m so stupid, so reckless. My eyes burn at the corners and I rock back and forth.

  Alaya nah, ick e’bah.

  My father said grow stronger in the pain. Moms said make a way. How? Maybe if I could hear it from them. Be reminded one more time. Why is time like that? Only precious when you don’t have it?

  I need to hear I’m capable.

  I need to hear I’m strong.

  Maybe then I’d believe it. I rock back and forth, harder. Moms said I’m strong like a diamond. I shine under pressure. My father and his people acted like I’m some Ghizoni queen. They got me mistaken.

  I’m nothing—a no one from the gutters of a block that only bleeds.

  Another helper stops by, this one in a cop uniform. I see him touch my arm, but I don’t feel it. He tugs and I’m standing, somehow. He pulls me over to an ambulance and I’m sitting.

  “People are saying you were at the center of what happened. Can you tell—” His mouth is moving, but I don’t really hear any of it. When he tucks his notes away in a forgotten file drawer, we’re still picking up the pieces of our lives off the street, bracing ourselves for the next tragedy.

  It’s a few minutes of a job for him.

  This is life for me.

  I’m supposed to think they trying they hardest and pour out my heart so he can scribble some words on that notepad. I’m supposed to believe what I tell him will actually lead to someone like him coming to the Row’s defense. But he won’t, because it’s always something.…

  They don’t have any leads.

  They don’t know where his people stay.

  They don’t have any hard evidence to pin to him.

  Excuses.

  But let homey stop in a mini mart in a rich white neighborhood with his hands in his pockets just because, and they busting down his family’s front door minutes later. Moms raised a diamond and diamonds are sharp. How do I even know this dude ain’t working with Litto’s crew? I glue my lips shut.

  The cop taps his paper. “Okay, well, if you don’t have anything to share, I guess I’ll—”

  His mouth slacks and the words come out slower. His whole face freezes and dust hangs in the air. Nothing around us shifts, like sound itself is muted.

  Time stops.

  Someone from Ghizon is here.

  There in the
middle of the chaos is a broad-shouldered figure in the shape of my father.

  “Dad!” I barrel into him. He hugs around me, squeezing, and I squeeze back. I’m a child in his arms. And for once, I don’t care. He’s here to help, to really be there for me. He’s never done that… or maybe he has, and I was too stubborn to see. I press in to him tighter, his heart thudding against me.

  My father is here to help! I—

  Wait, does this mean?

  No.

  No, no, no!

  “Your magic—it’s…” My mind is all fog, a tangled mess of thoughts. “Dad, your magic… it’s cursed… the death toll! Y-you can’t… the transport spell you took to get here.” I shove his chest. “Go, just go, get out of here before it’s too late, please!”

  “It’s okay.” He strokes my hair. The hug that comforted me seconds ago stings.

  “Rue.” He grips my arms, eyes hard, firm. He’s strong. So very strong. How did I not see that before? All this time, his tough choices were made from strength, not weakness.

  “You can’t be here.” Sniffles muffle my words. “I won’t lose both of you. I won’t!”

  He shudders. “The poison… I don’t know how much time I have. We must move fast.”

  “This is all my fault. I did this, coming here all alone.”

  “If this is anyone’s fault, it’s mine. Come on now, we don’t have long. Minutes.”

  An antidote. Where can I find him an antidote? That would take forever. We don’t have forever… not anymore.

  His eyes droop and his warm skin drains to pallor. A gust of wind sweeps through, blowing the pile of ashes that once were my cuffs.

  “H-help me lie down. Hurry, Rue, before the bits of the cuffs are all gone.” He speaks as if each word pains him as he settles on the ground. I tuck my head under his chin. I can’t believe this is happening. My father’s here to save me, but saving me means death.

  His chest is firm against my face, thumping with life, his beard, grayer than I remember.

  This can’t happen. I won’t let it.

  It’s a lie, but I cling to it. Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I imagine I’m little. The hem of his shirt is soft like silk, rising and falling with each breath.

  Seconds zip by and I try to hold on to each of them.