by Tiana Laveen
“Nuh uh!”
“You did too, liar, and you’re a damn tattle tale. I can’t stand you, you stupid ass punk!”
“Hassani!” Mama chastised. “You stop that cursing and what are you doing in here throwing balls in the first place? I’ve told you and Dakarai a thousand times to stop horseplay like this in the house.” Taking steady steps, she walked carefully over and peered down at the fragments of shattered glass. “I need to clean this up. You all—” Mama stopped speaking in midsentence. Her expression changed to one of confusion. “Uh … I need you all to go somewhere else, all right?”
He didn’t miss the sudden shakiness of her tone, as if fear were a rain cloud and showered down hard upon her. Face now ashen, she wrapped her robe tight around her. Isis raced into the open doorway, gripping her new white teddy bear from Grandma to her chest.
“What happened, Mommy?” she asked in her high-pitched, squeaky voice.
“Nothin’. Go back to bed, Isis.” With a sigh, Hassani slipped on his shoes to make his way out of the bedroom per Mama’s instructions. He glanced over at Dakarai, who now wore the same expression as Mama. Gently tugging on his brother’s arm, he drew him behind him and led them out of his room, slowly closing the door behind them. The three went into Isis’ room, the pink palace smelling sweet, with enchanting rainbows, white unicorns, and purple hearts all over, doused in glitter and sparkles. None of them spoke for several seconds.
“How’d she see it?” Dakarai broke the silence, tucking his hair behind one ear, pure fear dancing in his eyes.
“I don’t know,” Hassani huffed. “Mama’s not an Angel Child, but I guess it let itself be known, even to her.” He knew from his little brother’s expression that he was frightened, but too prideful to admit it. Placing his arm around him, he swallowed and ushered him to the large white and pink canopied bed where all three of them sat.
“He’s a bad man,” Isis finally said, not making eye contact as she swung her teddy bear back and forth. Her loose hair bounced around her peach-shaped face and her pouty lips curled into a frown.
“He wasn’t no man. He was a demon. That’s why the ball flew so hard and broke the picture. He been watchin’ me through that picture. They use reflective items sometimes.”
“Like glass?” Hassani nodded at his brother. “I must’ve sensed him somehow, and I telepathically tossed the ball at him without realizing it until it was over. His face was in the broken glass. I saw it. You saw it. But Mama wasn’t supposed to see it.”
“I saw him,” Isis piped up, still playing with the teddy bear, her eyes glossy and a slight smile on her face. “He came to my room, ’Sani.” Hassani wrapped his free arm around his sister and brought her close. “I don’t like him, ’Sani.”
“We gotta tell Daddy.” Dakarai swallowed hard and stared blankly at the wall before them.
“I know. Don’t worry, all right? Daddy will know what to do.”
They all sat there, not saying much, as the house grew to an uncomfortable stillness. He wished he could rush to someone who would understand, give a word of advice. He thought of Grandma sleeping soundly in the guest room, but knew she wouldn’t understand a thing he’d try to explain and call him crazy. Daddy was preparing for a conference and working late at the office; he wouldn’t be home until they were all in bed and sound asleep. He definitely couldn’t talk to Mama. He was worried for her … but what could he say? He wished his silence could possibly convince her she was just seeing things, leave her protected from the truth of the matter, but he’d all but acknowledged it when he left his room without speaking a peep.
“Do you think we shoulda left Mama alone in there, ’Sani? I mean…” Dakarai seemed to read his thoughts. “It’s in there with her now … alone.”
“Don’t worry. No, it’s not. It don’t want her; it wants me. I feel like it can’t do too much, really. It doesn’t feel all that powerful and strong, you know? I kinda feel like it’s a spy, like it’s just watchin’ us, messin’ with us a bit.”
“But what does it want? Mama said when bad people hang around you, they want something. I bet it’s the same with demons, too.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure what it wants, Dakarai, but I think it doesn’t like it that I’m not afraid of it. I ignored it, so it tried to get Isis upset and you, too. It must be desperate, ’cause now it showed itself to Mama, too. It followed me out of the room when we left but it doesn’t like us sitting all together, so it won’t come in Isis’ room right now. We can’t be together all the time though, and it knows this.”
“How do you know all of this?” Dakarai asked. Isis kept twirling her teddy bear around and around, the stark white fur a blur in her tiny grip. Hassani ran his hand protectively along her back, then turned towards his brother.
“I don’t know. I just do.” He shrugged. “Can just feel it, I guess.”
“’Sani, I think somethin’ real bad is going to happen.” He didn’t miss how his little brother’s eyes glossed over.
“I think it already has…”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Saint sucked his teeth as he gripped the steering wheel and headed towards the Metropolitan Pavilion on West 18th Street. Traffic was an absolute bitch, but what could he do? He was to speak at the “Sins of the King – Balance of the Queen” conference in less than an hour. The time had gotten away from him and pressing issues continued to brush up against him, forcing their way into his jam-packed schedule. He’d spent the first half of the day appointing various Angel Children to escort his children to and from school, park outside of the house, and police the area.
Much to Xenia’s dismay, she was assigned one as well. He’d launched a full household investigation, extracting the truth from each and every member until he had everything down to the fine, spindly details. It had been a rather difficult task to tap dance around his mother-in-law, make up tall tales as to why a black Lincoln remained parked outside of the home and who was the cop-looking guy smiling at Dakarai and giving Isis piggyback rides.
Pam had kept herself busy with shopping on his dime, cooking up an alarming amount of fried food and buttery desserts, and taking a liking to long afternoon naps—though he’d wondered if she’d laid eyes on the demonic son of a bitch, as well? If she had, she’d likely never utter a word of it. The woman believed in all sorts of nonsensical things, but the thought of such a notion terrified her.
At three in the morning, he’d walked around his dwelling, demanding the demon make himself known. It didn’t. Instead, it had hidden in the shadows within itself, fearful of his command. Then, he’d located the bastard slinking about in Hassani’s room once again, this time in the closet, and immediately banished the entity, once and for all. Now, he knew what it was…
A fucking low tier demon had been stationed in his house for Lord knows how long. According to Cruz, it was known as a ‘reporter’. Their kind do a bit of trickery, enjoy freaking out women and children, but mainly document activities and report those events to higher level demons. He was astounded that Hassani had kept such a secret for weeks, but his eldest in some odd way believed he was protecting the family by keeping the problem on his own turf … until the damn thing began to visit other areas of the house. It had been messing with Hassani for weeks, then tapped on his baby girl’s shoulder a time or two as well. Isis fed it the fear it desired, but she wasn’t the target. No, it had stated who it wanted…
Hassani.
The stinking, weak bastard had scared his mate to death, too, as she peered down in fractured glass fragments in Hassani’s room. Xenia had explained that two hideous eyes had peered up at her, blinking. She’d had the worst feeling, one of dread that had completely consumed her. Were they using his home as a revolving door of torture?
It wanted to mess with Hassani because he’s a psychic and my heir … wants to scare him out of being committed to following in my footsteps.
Now the thing was gone, but how long before another replaced it?
Saint
shook the situation out of his mind, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. A tall man dressed in a sharp brick brown suit, forest green tie, and crisp white shirt greeted him with a pleasant smile. His head full of white hair drew the eye.
“Dr. Aknaten.” The man gripped his hand in a firm handshake. “Your dressing room is to the left here.” He pointed down the way. When you’re ready, you’ll be escorted to the stage.
“Thank you.” Forcing a smile, Saint marched towards the private quarters and closed the door softly behind him. Slinking down at the vanity, he grabbed a bottle of water from a bucket of ice, unscrewed the cap, and practically downed it one gulp. A knock came at the door.
“Yes?”
“Hair and make-up, Dr. Aknaten,” a woman stated from the other side.
“I’m good, sweetheart. I’ve already had it taken care of. Got a fresh shave and a good trim up this morning, and I don’t do the stage makeup. I don’t like how it makes me look and it makes my skin itch so I’ll pass.” He pivoted in his seat.
“Okay, no problem. Do you need anything?”
“Nope, thanks. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” He soon heard footsteps heading away from the door, and he was once again immersed in his daydreams. He snatched up his cellphone and dialed Xenia.
“Saint, how are you, baby?”
“Hey baby … I’m fine.” He swiveled lazily back and forth in the chair, missing her already. “What are you doing?”
“Detangling Isis’ hair. Let me tell you, it’s a mess.” She yawned. “Did you get there okay?”
“Yeah. I’m here right now actually, about to perform in just a bit. Am I on speakerphone?”
“No, why? Be still, Isis. Mommy is almost done.”
“Because I don’t want the baby to overhear me. Look, sorry about all the confusion today with the bodyguard and everything, but just humor me, all right? I promise this is being worked out.”
“Don’t worry about it. I know that whatever is going on, you’re addressing it. How long do they have to be here though? I hope there is an end date. You know I don’t want the children feeling like they need to be afraid. Mama asked if we have the secret service here because you probably pissed off the wrong people.” She chuckled.
“Not long, just until I can figure out what’s going on exactly so we can deal with it effectively. Cruz of course gave some useful tips and Lawrence and Krishna are working together on some things. They are aware of the situation.”
“It’s gone though, right?” Xenia had already asked him that, but he knew she needed to hear it just one more time.
“Yes, baby, it’s gone and I’ll be taking additional measures once I get back home, to help ensure it never comes back. Well, I gotta go. Give the kids a big hug and kiss from me.”
“All right. I will.”
“I’ll be home late but as for you, well, you better be keeping the kitty warm for me, baby. I gotta feed that thang … make it purr. You know how it goes.”
“I might be asleep by the time you get home, but if you wake me up, you know it’ll be served proper to you, baby.”
He loved it when she flirted like this.
“Can’t wait to get my damn hands on you, Xenia. I can taste you already.”
Another knock sounded on the door. “Dr. Aknaten, are you ready?”
“Yeah, just a sec!” Saint got to his feet and checked out his reflection the mirror from various angles. His black hair had a healthy sheen, each strand combed into place. The silver streak his wife coveted was smoothed into the coiffed hair effortlessly, giving him a distinguished and debonair look.
I’m a sexy son of a bitch…
“Xenia, you are lucky as hell to have a suave mothafucka like me put a ring on your finger, you know that? Have you seen how sexy your husband is? Goddamn, baby! There may be more fish in the sea, but I’m the catch of the day!”
“Let me toss you back in and see if I’m better off…” she quipped. “And your modesty is awe-inspiring, as usual.”
He burst out laughing, feeling a bit silly, needing the laugh as his heart ached just below the surface.
“I’m just teasin’, beautiful. If anyone is lucky, Xenia, it’s me. Anyway, gotta go, baby. See you soon.”
“Yes, and knock ’em dead, baby. They paid good money so you make sure you deliver. Don’t get out there and lip-sync or act a fool,” she teased.
“Don’t I always deliver? Speaking of all-star performances, do me a favor. Videotape yourself playin’ with your pussy later and send it to me,” he whispered into the phone, then swallowed at the imagery scrolling in his head. “I want you to—”
“Saint! Isis is sitting here. Go on now.” She cackled. “I’m not having this conversation with you right now.”
“I am not asking for a conversation. In fact, I didn’t ask you to respond or elaborate at all… I just need you to take care of that shit for me. Spread it open real wide and let me see you working those fingers in that sweet, wet pink pussy hole … and watch yourself while you do it, and imagine me filling that pussy to the brim with my tongue, then my long, hard, dick … mmmm!” Then, he abruptly disconnected the call, satisfied that he’d left her hot and bothered for him.
Moments later he was escorted by two hosts onto the stage. He could feel the palpable energy, seizing the gamut of emotions welling in the sold-out crowd of men. Offered a cigar, he picked it up from a gold tray and let one of the escorts light it on his behalf. “Put It In Your Mouth” by Akinyele blasted through the speakers, pulsating through his chest. Bright blue and white lights strobed the stage with each long strut he took. Jaw tense, body ready, he slung his black suit jacket over one shoulder and blew out rings of smoke as the temperature in the place rose with excitement and the need for a healing.
The applause was deafening, blending in with the atmosphere, and a brotherhood was instantly formed. Saint didn’t make eye contact with the announcer just yet. Instead, he took his seat in a big, black leather chair as the man at the podium rolled out his bio. He patiently waited while listening to the man sing his praises. He felt like royalty when a fan blew directly above his head, an airy crown causing his tresses to gently sway from the wind song. He glared down at his reddish brown and ebony Bolvaint shoes, one of his favorite pair, and clasped his hands in his lap. Catching the gleam of his wedding band on his finger, he noted his warped reflection in the shiny platinum hoop. Lifting his hand to his lips, he kissed the ring, thanked his ancestors, and said a silent prayer.
“I present, Dr. Saint Aknaten!!!”
Game time.
Saint stood from his seat, placed his jacket over the chair arm, and made his way to the podium. A microphone was immediately pinned on him. He stood there for a spell, then undid the top button of his button down burgundy shirt and rolled up his sleeves. With a proud smirk on his face, he looked around at the massive audience. After placing his cigar in an ashtray on the platform, he grabbed the podium with both hands as if trying to keep the damn thing steady. As he scanned the room, he made mental checks and balances. He was briefly caught off guard when the host approached him with a crystal tumbler filled to the rim with a rich and dark liquid—he presumed Brandy or Crown Royal. Saint nodded in thanks, accepted the glass and set it beside him.
“Hello, my fellow horny mothafuckas!” The crowd erupted once again, this time impossibly louder. “Brooklyn in the house?” More applause blasted through. “Manhattan? Queens? Long Island?” he continued, laughing lightly at the enthusiastic crowd repping their individual boroughs. “We got Rainbeaus from all over the fuckin’ country tonight, but I have to pay homage to where it all began … my roots, the boogie down Bronx! It gets no tougher, rougher, and real! I’m proud of my birthplace, believe it!” Dog barks erupted from a section of the crowd. He grinned, feeling the connection with the boisterous Hispanic men who were co-signing his sentiments. “It’s been a minute since I had a conference here in New York, and I see I kept you all waiting too damn long.”
&
nbsp; “Too long, man!” someone shouted, drawing a chuckle from him.
“Yeah, but I’m back now with a vengeance and I’ve come with some shit you can use.” He scratched near his nostril, curing an itch, and sank inside of himself, ready to go to work. “Tonight, we’re going to get into some shit that is going to make your brain bend, fellas. We’re going to talk about you, as kings in this court. We’re going to talk about our Black queens, their wombs and what we wish to achieve, which is balance. This conference is called ‘Sins of the Kings and Balance of the Queens’. We’re going to talk about seduction.” He was met with loud whistling. “We’re going to discuss femininity, our primal natures, and compare and contrast it all. We’re going to go deep, my brothas. That’s right.” He scanned the audience as everyone drew quiet. “Tonight, you are my brother, my friend, my student. If you are open to the advice you are given this evening, when you leave here you will be all the wiser, mentally stronger, and better prepared for the relationship challenges that may come your way.
“Tonight, although this is a conference for kings, I am going to begin by discussing the queens. Why? Because when you are explaining a new concept, you start at the top, right? You start at the beginning. Women, due to their wombs, are the beginning. We were all born from a woman.” He stretched out his arms as a screen behind him lowered, displaying the stars of the universe. “Before we saw our mother, we felt and saw her womb as a fetus. Her womb was our first home. As we grew, each month making us stronger and stronger, we gained the ability to hear and see. When we opened our eyes while inside of her, all we could see was that womb, the protective amniotic sac around us and feel the warmth of her body. She fed us through the umbilical cord. She shared her life with us in the purest and most extreme way possible. Everything she ate and drank, we did, too. When she laughed, danced, and ran as fast as she could, we felt it. When she cried, fell to her knees and screamed out in pain, we felt that, too.