Auntie Ondine’s face sours. “The enemy has more minions than we know.”
I remember Molly’s talk. “You mean ones that’s smarter than Ku Kluxes?”
“Smarter and more dangerous. You must be careful now.”
Her words eat up all the good feelings I’d held on to this night.
“Who are they? These Ku Kluxes and the ones minding them? What are they?”
Auntie Ondine looks like she’s measuring what to tell me. Always seem like they measuring. I start to press again, but it’s Auntie Margaret who talks.
“There were two brothers, Truth and Lie. One day they get to playing, throwing cutlasses up into the air. Them cutlasses come down and fast as can be—swish!—chop each of their faces clean off! Truth bend down, searching for his face. But with no eyes, he can’t see. Lie, he sneaky. He snatch up Truth’s face and run off! Zip! Now Lie go around wearing Truth’s face, fooling everybody he meet.” She stops stitching to fix me with stern eyes. “The enemy, they are the Lie. Plain and simple. The Lie running around pretending to be Truth.”
I listen, wondering, What’s plain and simple about that?
“Don’t let their smile fool you,” Auntie Jadine sings. “Or take you in.”
“We should get you back,” Auntie Ondine says. “Been here long already.”
They strict about the time I spend in this place, though none at all will have passed back home. I grab my sword, getting another hug from Auntie Ondine.
“Be mindful what we tell you now. Stay clear of this Butcher Clyde.”
“I will,” I answer, certain to look her in her eyes.
As I walk away, I can hear Auntie Jadine at my back.
“When the devil come to town, you betta watch how you get down … watch, watch, watch out for the devil!”
FOUR
I’m near Cherry and Third in downtown Macon. People passing by glance to me. Probably because I’m back in knickers—blue with gold pinstripes tucked into gaiters and Oxfords. Or maybe because I’m whistling a tune named “La Madelon” Chef picked up in France. Mostly, though, it’s the sword strapped to my back peeking over a cream-yellow shirt. Don’t see that too often on a Thursday morning.
Butcher Clyde wasn’t hard to find. His name in fresh red paint on yellow right over the shop across the street: Butcher Clyde’s Choice Cuts & Grillery. The leaflet I’m holding announces the store’s grand opening, offering free meats to patrons. Well, white patrons. Because the leaflet makes plain this here is a Klan establishment. It got a drawing of Uncle Sam hugging a man that resemble Butcher Clyde, both holding sausage links, reading: Wholesome Food for the Moral White Family.
Sure enough, there’s four Klans in robes standing outside the store’s glass window, directing the steady line of patrons. Two I know is Ku Kluxes, faces shifting as they pass a canteen back and forth.
I told Nana Jean about the dream with Butcher Clyde and my meeting with the Aunties. After she get through grumbling about haints, she admits he could be the “blood redhead buckrah man” from her premonitions. Seems he arrived in town a week back, opening up this shop next to the American National Bank building. She warned us to keep our distance. But a whole day gone, and I’m losing patience. This Butcher Clyde snuck into my head, outright threatened me. But I ain’t no scared girl no more. I hunt monsters—they don’t hunt me. So now I’m about to do something real brave or stupid.
I wait for a streetcar to pass, then cross Cherry Street, walking straight to Butcher Clyde’s. White folk in line frown when I skip past them. Probably thinking I’m plumb out my mind when I march up to the Klans. One, a little bit of a man, looks at me like he gone dumb. I wait for him to recover.
“You lost, girl?”
“Nope,” I respond. “Here to see Butcher Clyde. He know me.”
White folk get thrown off if you act like they don’t expect—least till they remember they gotta put you in your place. I play my other card, looking to a Ku Klux.
“I can see you.” I tap under one eye. “Ugly as sin under that skin.”
The green eyes of the man the Ku Klux wearing don’t blink. He stops drinking from the canteen, letting water run down his chin, and turns to the other Ku Klux, like they got a silent way of speaking. My gamble pays off.
“Let her through,” the Ku Klux says.
The two human Klans set to holler, but I slip right in the door as someone leaves.
Bruh Rabbit walking into Bruh Gator’s open jaws, my brother’s voice whispers.
The inside look like any other butcher shop. Smells like one too—fresh blood and raw, open flesh. But there’s also the scent of seared meat coming from a kitchen. And at tables, people sit eating. There’s Klan posters everywhere, one advertising The Birth of a Nation at Stone Mountain Sunday. Men at the counter, every last one a Ku Klux, hand out brown packages to customers. And behind them is none other than Butcher Clyde.
He looks the same from the dream—a hefty bulk of a man. Like the other night he stands with his back to me, singing some awful tune and swinging his cleaver. I start up whistling, loud as I can, and he stops what he doing to turn slow. There’s slight surprise when our eyes meet, but I don’t stay for him to say nothing, walking to take a chair by the front window, leaning back all casual-like. A white lady and her son sitting nearby watch me open-mouthed. I stare back until she turns away. There’s angry buzzing behind me, but Butcher Clyde cuts in.
“Brothers and sisters, don’t let this disturb our feast. The lesser of God’s creatures at times need to be guided righteously to recall their proper place. Rest assured, I will take this one in firm hand. Go on and eat now, eat! Fill up your bellies with the Lord’s sustenance. Make the Invisible Empire strong!”
I don’t bother to look while he making his speech, and I only turn when I hear him take the chair across from me. His red hair slick with pomade and he’s wearing spectacles this time. There’s patches of sweat all over him, soaking his underarms, and trickling down his shaved chin.
“You look hot. Must be cold, wherever you from.”
He just grins and drawls, “Figured we’d see you soon, Maryse.”
“I prefer you keep my name out your mouth, Clyde.”
“Bold to come here alone. You know we’re the only thing keeping you alive right now?” He leans forward, voice gone low. “One word and these good people would tear you limb from limb. Hang you from a light post.”
I lean in to meet him, smiling. “What make you think I come alone, Clyde?”
I wonder if he can sense Sadie on a nearby rooftop, Winnie cocked and waiting. Or Chef in the old Packard, ready to toss a few homemade bombs through his window. Maybe he do, because he lets out a slow chuckle.
“Bold as brass.” His eyes wander over my shoulder. “And with the sword.”
“Want to see it up close?” I pull it from my back, slamming the blade flat on the table. The woman sitting near us squeaks, jumping up with her son and leaving.
Butcher Clyde don’t flinch, his eyes tracing the triangular patterns cut into the black metal before returning to me. “No need for theatrics, Maryse. I’m sure you didn’t wander in here just to make threats. You come because you have questions. Questions those three interlopers—your Aunties, is it?—won’t tell. Ain’t that right?” The answer on my face makes him break into a toothy grin. “Well, go on, then, ask us what you want to know. We tell you true.”
Auntie Margaret hums in my ears. They are the Lie. But my lips already working.
“You a Ku Klux?”
He laughs. “Us? One of them? Like comparing you to a dog, which we understand they’ve developed a taste for. Not to worry, don’t serve that here.”
“A dog. So you they master, then?”
“Master might be a bit much. Think of us more like”—he twirls thick fingers, grabbing for a word—“management.”
“Why you here?”
“Why, to fulfill the grand plan, of course.”
“Which is?”
“Bring
ing the glory of our kind to your world. Putting an end to your strife and bickering. Relieving you of the abomination of your meaningless existence. We strive to give you purpose, which you will come to know once you have been properly joined to our harmonious union.”
“Harmonious union?” I gesture at the Klan posters and whatnot. “That what you call this ode to the great white race?”
“Don’t mind that. We need you to let us in, to merge you to our great collective.” His gaze wanders over the shop’s patrons. “They was just the most willing. So easy to devour from the inside, body and soul. Always have been.”
A spike of anger hits me. “That why you have them go around killing us?”
“Oh, we might point them in a direction we need, but that hate they got in them is their own doing. You see, Maryse, we don’t care about what skin you got or religion. Far as we concerned, you all just meat.”
He rolls his neck, and as I watch sores break out across his skin—on his face, his forearms, his fingers. Not sores. Little mouths, like in the dream. Even his eyes roll back, leaving red gums and jagged teeth behind his spectacles. Every tongue flicks the air hungrily and right then, I see him. Really see him. Now I understand why he keeps saying we and us. This ain’t one thing—it’s dozens! I can see the places where they join together, stitched up in this human suit. They move about under his skin, like maggots in a corpse. A shiver shakes me and I grip my sword, imagining jumping up to slice that thick neck off his shoulders—and a hundred slithering things spilling out.
When he talks again, all those mouths talk too—dozens of shrill voices mashing together that only I can hear. “You haven’t asked us the biggest question. Ask it. Ask it!”
I clench my teeth at the jarring chorus, but I ask, “What’s coming?”
Those horrible mouths turn up into wicked grins.
“Grand Cyclops is coming,” they croon. “When she do, your world is over.”
I look at him, not understanding.
“We don’t have to keep up this fight, Maryse. Told you we’ve been watching you. There’s a special place for you in our grand plan.”
“Fuck your grand plan,” I spit back.
He laughs, and something deep in his belly growls.
“Such language! What would your mammy and pappy think?”
I almost put my sword through him right then and there.
“We apologize. Know that’s a sore spot for you. Now see, we could use your fire. Really should hear us out. After all, you think your little ragtag friends and that witch—with her blue bottles and weak magic—can stand against us? That you going to stop what’s coming with singing and Mama’s Water? Look at your face! You think we don’t know all about y’all? Girl, you even understand what you’re fighting?”
He signals and I tense up. But the Ku Klux who steps forward don’t even look at me. He just sets a plate on the table. I look down to see it’s meat, cooked rare and bloody. It got a cut on the top—that suddenly opens up into a mouth and lets out a sharp squeal!
Take all I got not to flip that table over as the meat begins inching its way across my plate. I turn to look about the shop, where people are eating. Devouring this living meat. Shoving it in they mouths like hogs at slop, chewing and grinding and swallowing it into their bellies. The sight brings up bile in my throat. I snatch a fork and stab the meat, holding it down while it screech and wriggle.
“One day,” I growl, “I’m going to cut you up into little pieces.”
I snatch my sword, lifting up and pushing from the table. The Ku Kluxes stare at me, intent in their eyes. But Butcher Clyde gives the slightest shake of his head. I look out at the people, transfixed in their eating, and turn away quick, wanting to be out of this place. A multitude of voices catch me as I reach the door. “Good of you to come by. Of course you know, this means we have to return the favor. Be seeing you, real soon.” Laughter from a hundred mouths chase me from the shop, a jarring chorus of razors in my ears.
* * *
“Don’t know why we can’t just play Spades,” Sadie grumbles. She’s sitting slouched in her too-big overalls, Winnie at her side. “And how you learn a Kraut game anyway? Y’all gone over there to kill ’em or play cards with ’em?”
Chef flashes that easy smile, shuffling the deck as the slim cards blur between her fingers. We at Nana Jean’s. The farmhouse full with people and the kerosene lamps flicker our shadows big off the walls. I check my new pocket watch, brass instead of silver. Half past eleven. The hour late.
“Picked it up from some German soldiers we caught,” Chef answers. “None of ’em coulda been older than sixteen. White boys told them Negroes had tails and we was cannibals. So the Germans we captured was extra friendly, thinking teaching us card games would stop them from getting eaten.” She pulls the smoking Chesterfield from her lips to flick ashes, before her face goes dark. “Then we come up on a Kraut patrol and one of them tries to give away our position. Had to slit his throat myself. Stupid kid.”
“You have any good stories ’bout that war?” Sadie asks.
Emma Krauss pulls up a chair, face bright as she spreads out her prim brown dress and lays the shotgun she carrying in her lap—what she calls a Merkel. Thing look bigger than she do. “Meine Freundin Cordelia. Deal me in. My sisters played this game. Though, I am not very good.”
Chef lifts an eyebrow. “Since when are revolutionaries into bourgeois pastimes?”
“On the contrary, I am quite fond of cards! Games of skill and chance, that place every man and woman on a level field.”
“Unless the one dealing stacks the deck against you,” Chef counters.
Emma peers down her spectacles. “Why, Cordelia, you sound like a socialist.”
Chef whoops a laugh, dealing the widow in.
“Y’all want me to keep playing, I don’t want none of that talk,” Sadie warns. “Bad enough I gotta spend Saturday night cooped up in here.” Her face softens into a lopsided smile. “You know who got the best conversations? That Lester. He know the most amazing things. Going on about old rulers of Ethiopia. You know he say there was this place named Meroe ruled by queens? You imagine that? Colored women ruling? Bet I woulda made a fine queen of Meroe. Strutting around on elephants or whatever.”
“I believe Meroe is old Nubia,” Emma adds. “One of their kings saved Israel from the Assyrians.”
“See there! I bet Lester know about that. Can listen to him all day!”
“So you been telling us,” Chef murmurs. “Suppose that Lester done some mighty fine talking the other night.”
Sadie narrows her eyes. “You got a sinful mind, Cordelia Lawrence.”
Chef winks my way. “You want in?”
Not sure she mean the game or ribbing Sadie. I shake my head. Used to pester my brother to teach me cards like he played secret with his friends. He taught me my letters, figuring, even how to fish. But never got around to cards. I fold up my book, walking off.
When I told Nana Jean about my meeting with Butcher Clyde she was hotter than fish grease. Say I was a fool gone wandering into a wolf’s den. I tried to make her see we need to know what them Ku Kluxes is planning. She stays mad, but agree with me about the meaning of Butcher Clyde’s parting words. He coming after us. And we been getting ready since.
I pass by where the Shouters sit, holding hands while Uncle Will leads a prayer. Nana Jean convinced them it too dangerous to set out on the road with Ku Kluxes about. If Butcher Clyde know as much as he say, sure he know about them. We been watching you a long time, Maryse. I shake off his words, reaching to where the Gullah woman sits in her chair. Molly there with her, reading over coded resistance telegraphs.
“There’s Ku Klux activity all through the state,” she’s saying. “Mrs. Wells-Barnett’s operatives report Klans gathering at Stone Mountain, for that movie.”
“The Grand Cyclops.” Both turn to look at me. “Butcher Clyde, he say whatever coming is big. Stone Mountain where they did the conjuring what started
all this. Has to be where this Grand Cyclops coming!”
“Bet the government know ’bout it too!” Sadie yells out.
We ignore her.
“Indians used to meet there,” Molly says thoughtfully. “The mountain might be a focal point where worlds meet too. Makes sense why Simmons used it to open his door. Maybe planning to do it again, to bring this … Cyclops.”
Nana Jean frowns when she looks at me, bushy eyebrows bristling. Still mad, then. “De haint ooman dem ain say nuttin?”
I shake my head. Thought Auntie Ondine would have summoned me by now, but haven’t heard a word. “We need to let people know what’s set to happen on Stone Mountain. Tell them we have to stop it.”
“From what’s coming across the wires, could be Klan there in the hundreds,” Molly says. “Who knows how many are turned.”
“Then we get who we can. We need to be there!”
“Ki! How we gwine git dey when we yuh?” Nana Jean huffs.
“She’s right,” Molly agrees. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not casting blame. But we’ve been holed up here expecting an attack. Can’t be in two places at once.”
They right I know. Since Butcher Clyde made his threat, we been trapped here. Stayed up all last night, and the night before that, but nothing. Now here it is Saturday almost heading into Sunday morning. And still quiet. Doubt starts creeping in. Maybe Butcher Clyde aiming to throw me off. Keep us out the way while he go about doing his evil.
A sharp rap on the door sends me whirling, ready to call my sword. I ain’t the only one. Chef standing up with her knife. Emma holding her shotgun and Sadie somehow already got a bullet in the chamber, looking down the sights of her Winchester. But then the rap comes twice again, and once more.
Molly jumps up. “One of mine!”
She reaches the door and pulls it open. Sure enough it’s one of her apprentices with a rifle slung over her shoulder. Molly says she’s terrible with guns, but at least two of the young Choctaw women she teaching nice with the weapons. This one got on a wide-brimmed black hat. Sethe, I think, and she’s holding someone small by the back of the neck. One of the boys who helps pack up Mama’s Water.
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